Severus Snape and the Potion of Persuasion
by fionalafleur104
Summary: Upon finding out their former Potions Master survived Nagini's attack, Harry insists on ensuring his full recovery, but forging unlikely alliances and promoting equality suddenly become imperative when a new post-war threat develops. SS/HP and HG/DM.
1. No Change

**Author's Note: **The Severus/Harry relationship is the most important one to me in this story, and therefore the relationship I will take the longest (in story time) to develop. When all is said and done I expect this story to be 200k+ words and have followed the characters through an entire school year. Just a head's up. :)

**WARNING: Lots of Dramione in the beginning!** Don't say I didn't warn ya!

* * *

Chapter 1 — No Change

* * *

Severus Snape had never considered himself a religious man. He'd heard the whispers behind the veil in the Department of Mysteries on more than one occasion, but the general lack of shrieking in pain lead him to believe that that would not be anywhere near his afterlife.

His father had prided himself on being a "good god-fearing man," which meant lectures of sin and hellfire on Sunday mornings and staggering around in a drunken stupor the rest of the week. No, privately Severus Snape suspected a fresh new level of hell would greet him at his final destination: lanced into very core of earth with bolts of blood and fire, specially reserved for Death Eaters and people that mix wormwood essence with bicorn horn before first neutralizing the base.

He fully expected to be damned to an eternity of the crushing pressure of the Earth's mantle and fluid heat of the agitated core, but everyone knows it's not the heat that gets you—no, no… it's the humidity.

What had not expected was the dreamlike stasis he had fallen into the moment he closed his eyes in the shrieking shack. He did not even feel the blood pouring from his numerous wounds, which he knew would be fatal. Nagini had been given the order to kill, and the Dark Lord did not suffer incompetents.

It was in this place he made peace with leaving the world of the living behind and embraced the inevitable descent into nothingness. But nothingness did not come… just an awareness of thought that seemed to stretch for hours into days into weeks or beyond, he could not tell.

He thought about his life and love. He told himself stories. He thought about Albus and his twinkling eyes and lemony sweets. He thought about her: his beautiful Lily, to whom he had devoted a lifetime to love above all else, and her son whom he had sheltered in her wake.

He made peace with the fact he would never know for certain the ultimate fate of the Dark Lord and the mortal world he had left behind.

After agonizing over every decision he had ever made until even his considerable voices of self doubt were silenced, he thought about his work. He would miss the familiar scents and quietness of an empty classroom. He would miss the feeling of potions residue building up on his hands like ink from a newspaper: a lingering testament to his hard day's work.

He remembered with amusement his one last potion that was probably still at this moment simmering in a forgotten cauldron on a forgotten burner in his forgotten quarters. He even thought about Quidditch.

Eventually he grew wary of the oppressively inescapable awareness and concluded, of the afterlife, "Well this is boring as hell."

* * *

The silent slumberer next to him was not what one would call traditionally handsome, but after seeing Snape's memories in the pensieve Harry had begun to see him in an entirely new light.

"He was in love with my mother," Harry began to explain to an enraptured Ron and Hermione on the cold quiet night in the shadow of the last day of battle. They were all singed and bandaged: now veterans of a brutal war. Once Harry heard that by some miracle Snape was still alive they had all arrived at St. Mungo's just in time to see his lifeless body being floated through the hallways.

As soon as the healers declared him stable, even if they didn't know what was wrong with him, Harry inserted himself into the bedside chair meant for family and had refused to be moved.

Ron and Hermione, who had pulled chairs into the private room for a conference, looked at each other in confusion. Harry sat and stared off into the distance. "Okaaay…" Ron hedged disbelievingly, but Hermione quickly shushed him.

"The memories he gave me; he knew my mother." Had he not been so worried about Snape, Harry would have perhaps continued his explanation. "But the important thing is he didn't kill Dumbledore. Well, he did, but Dumbledore made him do it."

"What?" came Hermione's breathless reply. "Harry you're not making any sense."

"Dumbledore was dying," Harry finally managed, realizing that he was the only thing standing between Snape and Azkaban. "He had Snape kill him to secure his position with the Dark Lord," and as a reverent afterthought, "So Malfoy would not have to do it."

"I don't get it. Why was Dumbledore dying? I mean, I know he was ancient and all, but…" Ron looked pained with the effort of thinking, but Hermione was, as always, one step ahead of him.

"The ring! The horcrux he destroyed! It must have cursed him," Hermione exclaimed to Harry's nods of assent.

"Please you have to tell someone." Harry looked as his friends desperately. "Not about my mum, but about Dumbledore. They need to know Snape is innocent."

"We can tell Professor McGonagall. She'll make sure the right people are informed." Hermione was already standing ready to leave.

"And do me a favor. Don't mention the memories?"

"Of course," she said softly as she and Ron left the room. Harry still reeled at what he had seen in those memories: what he had seen and what he had felt.

He had watched Dumbledore's recollections as an impartial observer. He still thought his own thoughts and felt his own feelings while watching the events unfold around him.

Snape's memories, however, were laced with emotion that only seemed to build as one scene swirled into the next. Harry felt the pain of a lifetime of loneliness and unrequited love: truly felt the part of Snape that had once burned like flaming tendrils lashing in the wind fade into quiet embers and die along with her.

He recognized his own awed devotion to Dumbledore was now accompanied by the feelings of a grateful and devout friendship that had brought back a tiny fiery flicker in Snape's otherwise despondent heart: like a freezing man clinging to the last bit of warmth from his dying fire. He then suffered the same heart wrenching agony Snape felt when he agreed to carry out the odious task that hovered over him like a storm cloud from that moment onwards: he had to kill the only person who still cared about him. Even secondhand, he was crushed to a standstill by these emotions. He could not imagine how Snape could have survived with his mind intact for all these years.

_Now he has nothing. _The thought made Harry shiver. He may have lost his parents, but ever since Hogwarts he would always be blessed with friendship. The Weasleys had practically taken him in as their own son. Sure he had been miserable before, but he had never known any different. This happy thought followed his fitful mind as he finally relaxed into an uneasy slumber.

Ron and Hermione returned the next morning looking cheerful and exhilarated. "It's like New Year's out there!" Hermione said after prodding Harry awake. Of course people would be celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord (again.) But St. Mungo's was still quiet and sedate. She had brought him tea and a bit of breakfast, and Harry suddenly realized he was famished.

"Thanks," he said before tucking in.

"What do the healers say?" Hermione asked while carefully contemplating Snape's quiet form.

"No change. They countered Nagini's venom and replaced the blood lost. They've run loads of tests, but they really aren't sure what has him like… this." Harry waved his hand vaguely in the air.

The curly haired witch got that "thinking" look on her face, but she said nothing. He was saved from having to continue when the door to Snape's room opened to a familiar white-blonde figure.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

Ron bristled in his chair, clearly resisting the urge to whip out his wand.

"Come to get your wand again?" Harry tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. For all of his posing, in the end Harry knew Malfoy had saved his life—all of their lives. But the debt was repaid in kind, and now their childhood rivalry could properly mature into an adulthood rivalry.

"No, actually I came to see Professor Snape."

"—You… oh, right."

"But now that you mention it. I don't think—"

"Just take it," Harry said with finality, whipping out Malfoy's wand and holding it out to him, handle first, in rigid withdrawal. Ollivander had said the wand had changed its allegiance, and Harry was beginning to feel quite comfortable with it. He was not, however, a thief.

Malfoy hesitated, looking first down at the wand, then back up at Harry. He reached out his hand slowly, as if towards the rear of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. His delicate fingers curled around the handle, and Harry dropped his hold on it. Instead of pulling back, Malfoy's face fell. "I don't think this is mine anymore," he said somberly, and passed the wand back to Harry. They just stared at each other a moment.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. What are you all even doing here?" Malfoy looked genuinely confused.

"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said.

"He was my teacher."

"He was mine too."

"You didn't even like him!"

"I didn't like you either!"

"He doesn't really have any family?" Malfoy hazarded.

"Oh." Harry nodded his head. "He doesn't really have anyone." The room grew silent, as four appraising faces looked with pity at the motionless man.

"So really, how is he?" Malfoy asked.

"We should be getting an update any minute actually. They ran more tests this morning."

"You do know he _killed_ _Dumbledore_, right?" Malfoy spoke like he might be explaining something to a very small child or exceptionally dim troll.

"Technically assisted suicide, and yeah I was there," Harry said, but Malfoy's request for clarification was cut short as a man in green robes entered the room holding a clipboard.

"And how is our patient feeling today?" he asked cheerfully. Healer Andrell's habit of asking his comatose patients questions might have worried Harry had he not seen him save half a dozen lives in the last day alone. Every time he ventured out to visit the loo or find a drink of water the man was covered in blood, working furiously on war casualties as they began to filter in.

His three companions had not witnessed such events, so as it was they exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"No change," Harry said.

"Very well then. Let's have a look." Andrell waved a diagnostic wand in Snape's general direction. Harry visibly relaxed, as the wand did not make sounds or change color. Harry had learnt to associate that with a "bad thing."

"It's as I suspected." Andrell paused to write something on his clipboard before looking up and announcing, "No change," with a mischievious smile before checking the heavy bandages around Snape's neck. "I'll have someone come to change these. If you wouldn't mind—" He gestured at the door.

"Is that it?" Malfoy blustered indignantly. "No change? There's not a potion or something you can give him to… wake him up or something?"

"He will wake when his body is ready, and it is ill advisable to do so prematurely," the healer explained. "And you are? We only allow family to see patients, and close friends," he added with a look at Harry.

Harry had not felt it prudent to mention his hate-hate relationship with the former potions master.

"He's a family friend," Harry explained quickly. "Healer Andrell this is Draco Malfoy." The two nodded at each other.

"Charmed I'm sure. Well, Mr. Malfoy as you may be aware your friend has sustained a significant trauma, and his body is healing. I assure you he is receiving all of the potions he should, but what he needs most is time. I have no reason to believe he will not awaken by himself within a few days, a week at most." A nurse walked in, and the healer gently herded them out the door.

When he let them in a few minutes later Draco's face paled at the amount of blood soaked into the bandages the nurse was discreetly discarding.

"Now are there any other concerns I may address?" he asked as more people appeared at the door: Kingsley Shacklebolt, flanked by two stern looking men that were wearing the same cut of black robe with an insignia Harry did not recognize in the upper left corner.

Hermione gasped at their appearance, and Andrell grew agitated. "I really must insist no more visitors!" Draco stood immediately upon their entering, and Ron straightened up, sensing the growing tension in the room.

"We're here on business," Shacklebolt said.

"With whom, might I ask?" Andrell asked.

"Professor Snape."

"Well as you can see _Professor_ Snape is a bit under the weather at the moment. Perhaps you should conduct your business another day." The healer nodded as he spoke, as if agreeing with himself wholeheartedly.

"I'm afraid it can't wait. Professor Snape is wanted—" but where he was wanted Harry did not find out, as yet another guest entered the room in a swirl of robes.

"Shacklebolt! Just wait a moment!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed.

Andrell threw his hands in the air. "No one listen to me I'm just the doctor!"

"Mr. Potter I've tried to explain. Perhaps you can help?" she appealed to him. Harry was beginning to grow nervous. Why did everyone seem so angry?

"I know what you said, Minerva, but his guilt or innocence must be decided in court once we have all of the information."

"No! You don't understand!" Hermione shouted as she too stood up.

"He is quite ill," Healer Andrell reasserted himself.

"We have medical facilities of our own," one of the men with Shacklebolt said.

"I really must insist he cannot be moved." The healer sounded more and more desperate as he realized he was losing control of the situation. Harry glanced at Ron who shrugged his shoulders. Malfoy looked paler than usual.

"I'm sorry, Healer, but we have the warrant here. I must bring Professor Snape to Azkaban to await his hearing."

The words hit Harry like an anvil to the head. He jumped from his chair, imposing himself between the bed and the three men at the entrance, and pulling out his wand in one fluid motion. "Over my dead body!" he shouted angrily.

All movement and breathing in the room immediately ceased as everyone looked at Harry with wide eyes, and some with fear. Malfoy looked relieved. "Too many people" Andrell squeaked while holding his hands to his forehead.

Shacklebolt took an involuntary step backwards. "Harry the Law clearly states—"

"There is no law without a government to back it up. And they all got themselves killed by being blithering idiots if you'll recall. Who even has the authority to—"

"The Minister."

"Is dead."

"Fudge has returned in the interim."

"Oh good, Commandant Blithering Idiot!"

"Just wait a minute Harry. I understand—"

"No, you don't understand!" Harry did not lower his wand.

"ALL OF YOU QUIET!" Hermione bellowed suddenly in her best stop-a-Grawp-in-full-cry voice, and it was so. "Right, now the Law also states that the healer has ultimate say in transport and release of his patients, so until Andrell says so, Professor Snape is not going anywhere. Post a guard at the door if you have to." Hermione paused briefly to curtail Harry's protest with a pointed look. "And maybe, given the information we have, you should go back and ask Fudge if he is really, really… _really_ sure this is what he wants to do."

The two guards looked at Shacklebolt, who was focused intently on the business end of Harry's wand. Maybe he would take advantage of being the Dark Lord vanquisher after all. "I'd say… that we may very well do that," the man finally conceded.

"Run along now," Andrell peeped from the dark corner of the room he had recluded himself to.

Shacklebolt and the guards left, backing out of the room uneasily then turning to walk down the hall without a word. Harry was relieved when neither of the guards were assigned to stay at Snape's door.

Professor McGonagall looked, as always, possibly constipated when she spoke. "I'm sorry Potter. With everything that's happened, the Ministry is trying to exude some semblance of order." Harry snorted. "I'll leave you all now, but do call on me if I can be of further assistance," she said with an uneasy glance at her former colleague.

"Perhaps we should all let Professor Snape rest," Malfoy hesitated, glancing at a clearly still agitated Harry.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry stated firmly.

"Harry has suggested, and I agree, that the patient would benefit from having someone here should he wake up, to… explain everything that has happened and assure him—"

"He's wasn't nursed back to health just to face a dementor's kiss," Malfoy stated his grim realization. "I understand. I can stay."

Harry began shaking his head, but Hermione cut off his next words. "Harry you've been here nearly thirty-six hours. At least go home and freshen up." She did have a point. He'd actually died for a bit in these clothes.

"Alright. But I'll be back later. Please look after him," he said to Malfoy, and received the boy's silent ascent.


	2. Answers in the Pensieve

Chapter 2 – Answers in the Pensieve

* * *

For the next week Harry stayed at Snape's bedside. When he went home to rest or change, Malfoy or Ron and Hermione took up his vigil. At Harry's request, Hermione brought Malfoy a Dumbledore's Army Galleon so he could contact them quickly and discreetly if the Ministry came knocking while they were gone.

The week passed without incident and without any change in Snape's condition. Healer Andrell grew more and more concerned. "I don't understand it. There is just _no change_." Andrell demonstratively waved the wand over Snape. "His wounds have closed but haven't healed, but also haven't gotten infected. It's like… his body is here, but he is not."

"Brain damage?" Hermione asked with concern.

"No, no… I would have detected that. You said you were all with him when he was attacked?"

The trio exchanged glances. They had divulged the essence of the attack so that the man could properly treat Snape, but Harry was not sure how much or how little to tell the rest of the world about their ordeal. "Well sort of."

"We were in the next room, but when we went in he was still conscious," Hermione supplied.

"And as far as you know, nothing unusual happened after you spoke with him?"

"You mean like him dying and showing up later alive?" Ron said, to a scathing look from Hermione.

"What exactly do you mean by unusual?" Harry asked.

"Anything… magical feeling?" Andrell looked pained, as if grasping at straws that were biting him back.

"He gave us some memories," Harry said, "Right before he died—or whatever."

"He gave them to all of you?"

"To me." Harry sounded overly proud of this fact, even to his own ears. "He gave them to me."

"Hmm. Well that is not terribly out of the ordinary. It doesn't explain his condition, at least not alone." Andrell pursed his lips as he thought.

"Healer, do you think it would be alright if we put them back?" Hermione ventured.

"It couldn't hurt. It would be good if your Professor Snape doesn't wake up with gaping holes in his memory, at the very least." Andrell was moving to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do in the Medical Library." He bowed his way out.

"They're still in Dumbledore's pensieve."

"We can go and get them Harry."

"Alright thanks."

"Is there anything else you need?" Hermione touched his shoulder, and he smiled at her ever-present and heartfelt concern.

"No I'm fine, thanks."

Ron and Hermione stepped outside, not wasting a moment as Harry heard the distinct _pop_ that meant they had apparated to Hogsmeade.

Harry sat back in the overstuffed chair. He figured it would take them about an hour to get to the castle and back to somewhere they could apparate, so he picked up the copy of _The Daily Prophet _Hermione had brought him.

He was relieved to not be staring at a moving picture of himself on the front cover for the first time in a week. Harry's silence and seclusion had lead to all kinds of wild speculations on how he had defeated the Dark Lord. Eventually he knew he would have to explain things, but he was just not up to it yet.

Instead, there was the headline, "Hogwarts to Reopen, Hire Stonemasons," accompanied by a picture of the staff, a stern but proud looking Professor McGonagall in the lead, in front of the castle. There was even a peeved looking Filch shuffling bits of rubble about, clearly overwhelmed by the idea of putting the castle back together alone.

A quick perusal of the article told Harry that the school wanted to assess where each student was in their magical education, graduate those they could, and make accommodations for an extra full school next year.

_Of course, we're British, we soldier on._ Harry wondered if Snape would go back to teaching. Slughorn was still amongst the faculty pictured, so perhaps he would have his coveted DADA position after all. Now that Voldemort was dead it couldn't possibly still be cursed.

Harry wondered then if moving out of the dungeons might not do Snape some good. At that thought, his vision shifted peculiarly. It felt like when he had melded minds with Voldemort, except not painful, and less like the vision was forced into his mind and more like it was already there.

He had been picturing the door to Snape's quarters, and then suddenly it looked _different_. It was the same door, but the vision was clearer somehow, like he was seeing it through eyes that had seen it a lot more often.

The door swung open and he was moving forward now, through the entryway and into a sitting room. The vision, or whatever it was, did not stop there. He turned left and came to another door which opened to what could only be Snape's private potions lab.

The detail with which he saw a place he had never been before was disconcerting, as was the vision itself as it focused on an exquisite gold cauldron set off to the side on a table. The burner must have been lit under it, because the potion inside was bubbling serenely, and he could even smell the most delicate hint of lavender.

Upon seeing that cauldron, and the contents of it, Harry suddenly felt the most crisply clear desire he had ever felt in his life. What he was supposed to be desiring he was not sure, but as the vision ended he noted to himself that he was sure that was not in the memories Snape had given him. "Oh that's not good."

A moment later, Harry heard a loud _pop_ and Ron and Hermione came in. Hermione produced a small stoppered vial from her infamous beaded purse. "We didn't look," she reassured him while handing it over.

"Thanks," he said for both himself and Snape, then paused. "I have no idea how to put this back in," Harry conceded.

"Here," Hermione reached out her hand, and he passed the vial right back to her. She pointed her wand at the glass whose corked top promptly popped off. "_Memoria Restiturum_,_"_ she said and flicked her wand in the general direction of Snape's head. The silvery silky strand of memory floated out of the vial and towards Snape.

"Thanks," he said once again, resting his head in his hands.

"They've really affected you," Hermione stated, "his memories."

Harry looked up to her concerned face. "I'll be fine, Hermione."

"You always say that."

"And I'm always fine." He tried to sound cheerful at their banter, but she did not look convinced. Whatever her reply, it was cut off as the silken memory strand failed to settle in Snape's head, but instead rebounded and flew towards Harry, hitting him with a silent sparkle.

Hermione gasped, and Ron looked perplexed.

"Did you see that too?" Harry asked, just to be sure.

"Yeah, mate. Never seen that before." Ron said.

"Oh that's not good."

Both of the men looked at Hermione, knowing she must have some sort of explanation. She looked slightly more pensive then bewildered, which Harry took as a good sign.

"Harry..." Hermione hesitated. "Do you remember saying something to Snape, just after he passed out?" Both Harry and Ron stared at her.

"No," Harry said firmly.

"Well I wasn't sure at the time, but it's the only thing that makes sense. I think you said something… a kind of a spell."

"A _kind_ of a spell?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well it was very quiet, I wasn't even sure you had said anything, but it sounded… ritualistic."

"How could I have cast a spell and not know it?"

"Yeah and how could you speak another language and not know it," Ron pointed out. "Remember that one?"

"That's just it. I think you were speaking Parseltongue. Harry I think we should look at your memories from that night. I think we might find something that explains Professor Snape's condition." Both men looked at her as if to object, but quickly realized she was almost always right, and nodded their agreement.

Harry went down the hall to floo Malfoy. Willingly sticking his head anywhere in the Malfoy residence was not something he looked forward to, but he didn't want to startle him by warming the galleon.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry enunciated clearly and stuck his head into the purple blaze of light that formed.

"Harry?" a woman's voice greeted him, and the face of Narcissa Malfoy went from porcelain beauty to concern in a heartbeat. "Is Professor Snape alright?"

"Mrs. Malfoy! Yes he's just the same. I, er…" Harry had not talked to her since the forest. He began to feel awkward and out of place, but for once the aristocratic grace of a Malfoy came to his rescue.

"I'll go and get Draco," she turned and left without delay.

He craned his head around, taking in his surroundings while he waited. He appeared to be in a sitting room, with several Elizabethan era couches and chairs facing towards the fireplace. Their light floral print was in sharp contrast to the deeply colored wooden paneling along all four walls and the grim tapestries that hung above them. The one just to his left depicted a particularly gruesome scene of a stag being torn apart by a group of dogs. Professor Trelawney would be predicting his imminent death right about now.

"Potter? What's wrong?" Draco sounded confused.

"Nothing!" He quickly reassured him. "I just needed to step out an hour or so and was wondering if you could sit with Snape."

"Oh." Draco relaxed visibly. "Of course. I'll be there in just a moment."

"Great, thanks." Harry said and withdrew his head from the fireplace with relief. Even had his first experience not been so horrible, Harry doubted he would ever get used to the floo network.

"He's coming," Harry said, as Ron and Hermione looked askance.

"Alright. You should probably take out your memory here," Hermione said. "Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Just in case," Hermione's smile was reassuring, and Harry decided she was just being overly cautious. After all, half dead and wandless, Snape had cried his memories out. How hard could it be?

"In case you get overzealous and take out your whole mind," Ron said with a snort.

"Shush Ron," Hermione said firmly, while reaching into her beaded bag to pull out yet another vial.

"That can't really happen can it?" Harry sounded meek even to his own ears.

"Of course not. Now it's very simple. Just think very hard about that night. Don't worry about trying to remember all the details. Your mind will do that for you. Just think of the event. How you were feeling, what you smelled, was it hot, or cold? Was it quiet?"

"You were there."

"Yes but everyone perceives things differently. This has to be totally your recollection. Think hard about where you want the memory to begin and end. When you are ready, place your wand to your temple and say '_Memoria Excerpo._'"

Harry decided to start the memory when they when walking down to the shack and end it after they were far from the building, just for good measure. "_Memoria Excerpo," _He said, and pulled his wand away from his temple. It sounded like cold water was running through pipes in his head, but he felt immensely self-satisfied when he saw a silvery strand clinging to his wand. He brought it to the tip of the vial and pushed it in.

"Taking a trip down memory lane?" Malfoy drawled as he sauntered into the room.

"Something like that." Harry was oddly reassured by Malfoy sounding more like his sanctimonious self.

"We're hoping to find something to help Professor Snape," Hermione interjected. "We're just going to Hogwarts so we shouldn't be gone more than an hour or two." The trio started to leave the room.

"If you need a pensive," Draco called to their retreating backs, "you can use mine." The three of them turned in unison, and then looked at each other.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Harry hesitated. "Your dad trying to kill me that one time and all. Oh and that other time. And then there was the time—"

"My father—" Malfoy swallowed, "is not at home. He's awaiting his _trial_." He said the word like he'd just tasted something foul.

"But he didn't even fight in the last battle," Hermione sounded genuinely confused, and Malfoy fidgeted uncomfortably.

"For aiding and abetting. The ministry has been sweeping up anyone that had anything to do with Voldemort – willingly or not – and taking them to Azkaban."

This was news to Harry. Even Ron and Hermione, who had set foot in the outside world for more than an hour at a time, looked troubled.

"They're not taking any chances this time. Vertaserum for everyone." Malfoy looked somber, and Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Mr. Ollivander?"

"He's there too."

"Great. We defeat Voldemort and become monsters ourselves," Harry said.

Malfoy just shrugged. "Weren't we always?"

Harry thought of the Machiavellian regime the ministry had become in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and that stupendous bitch Umbridge. "Good point."

"And anyway, I can have it brought here. Wikket!"

Harry had only a moment to wonder at that last when a house elf popped into existence next to Malfoy.

"Go and fetch my pensive and bring it to me," Malfoy commanded.

Harry saw Hermione bristle with indignation out of the corner of his eye. "Please?" she said. Malfoy looked at her like she had sprouted a second head. Some things would never change.

The house elf popped out of existence, and popped back in just a moment later carrying a silver tray with a shimmering liquid in it. Wikket set it to hovering in the middle of the room.

"That will be all for now." Wikket bowed her way out of the room and apparated as soon as she was in the hall.

"Thank you!" Hermione had called after her. Her questioning look to Harry was met with a shrug, so she upended the vial into the silvery substance. All three began to bend down to put their noses in but were stopped when Draco burst out laughing. "You can just stick your finger in or something. It makes it a lot easier."

Hermione glared at him, but all three of them aborted their motion and stuck a finger into the gelatinous goo. The last thing Harry saw before that familiar disorienting swirling feeling was Draco step up and follow suit. _That weasel!_

"You weasel!" Harry blurted out as soon as they had fallen into his memory, but Malfoy was just laughing.

"Well that was easier than I thought."

"You had no right!"

"Well, it's the only way anyone will find out what you three did that night isn't it? Trick you into telling them?"

"We have good reason for keeping our secrets, _for now,_" Harry said.

"Oh? And what are those?"

"Out of respect for Professor Snape." Hermione's face was stern, but her authoritative air was punctured at that moment as memory-Ron, Harry, and Hermione walked through her. She paid them no notice. "We feel it's best to leave it up to him exactly how much to tell everyone, and when. He laid his life on the line more than anyone. It's the least we can do. And besides, what if he wakes up?"

Draco didn't have a reply to that, but the smug look was gone from his face. At least he was genuinely contemplating what she had said.

"Let's just go." Harry was getting impatient. "We may need his help to fix Snape anyway, and I'm sure he will keep Snape's confidence. Right _Malfoy?_"

Malfoy looked like he might say something, but quickly shut his mouth and nodded.

They all headed toward the shrieking shack. Malfoy was practically bouncing on his heels. "On an adventure with the golden trio, just wait until I tell my friends," he said in feigned excitation. Hermione hit him on the shoulder.

Since Harry's memory couldn't show what exactly was happening in the next room, they were forced to crowd into their hiding spot once they entered the decrepit building and listen, not wanting to miss anything. "Ouch, Ron that was my foot!"

Finally Harry went in to see Snape in his memory, and the group followed closely. The scene progressed, and nothing out of his recollection happened. Harry was glad to see Malfoy looked a bit peaky staring at all of the blood on the floor. "Glad to be on our adventure now, Malfoy?"

"Shhh!" Hermione admonished.

"You have your mother's eyes," the echo of the once powerful potions master said before closing his eyes. In the memory, Ron and Hermione had gotten up to leave, but this Hermione was staring at the pair on the floor with rapt attention.

"_Animus Illicio,_" Harry's echo said, just above a whisper, and waved his wand over the now lifeless body.

"What the hell?" Harry said in confusion as Hermione's echo briefly glanced backwards, but the three memories were soon out the door and all four personages were violently extracted from the shrieking shack. They landed back in Snape's hospital room with a thud.

"I knew it!" Hermione said, the first to recover.

Harry floundered in perplexity. "What the hell?" he repeated.

"What he said," Ron agreed.

"Harry what did you say?" Hermione was, as always, exhilarated by the hunt for clues, whose trail had just warmed up.

"You were there," Harry began to answer but stopped himself, recalling the characteristic hissing noises that colored his speech. He must have been speaking in Parseltongue as Hermione had suspected. "Oh right. It sounded like _Animus Illicio_. Does that make sense to you?"

"_Animus_ sounds like the word for soul and I think _Illicio_ means entice. To entice the soul, maybe?" she was already pulling out her Latin dictionary to work out the subtleties in each word. Why did Latin have to be such a complicated language?

"It means to _ensnare_ the _thinking_ soul," Malfoy said from near the doorway. They had forgotten he was there and now turned to look at him. "But that's ridiculous. One person can't house another person's soul!" Malfoy laughed at the very idea. Ron laughed along nervously, and Hermione attempted to join him. Harry, however, was looking at Snape with a deadly calm. It took Malfoy a moment to realize no one else was actually amused. "What, seriously?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** The description of what Harry calls the "sitting room" is my description of the drawing room in Hardwick Hall, which served as Malfoy Manor's exterior in the Deathly Hallows movies. The tapestry he describes is also there and depicts the death of Actaeon, which I though was amusing since it shows dogs ripping apart a stag.


	3. An Unexpected Sanctuary

Chapter 3 – An Unexpected Sanctuary

* * *

"We've heard of it happening," Hermione said simply, squeezing Harry's shoulder in a gesture of support. "Malfoy, I need your help."

"Huh?"

"I need to find out more about the Dark Mark, and the magic contained in it. I have a few pet theories, but nothing concrete."

"The magic contained in it?" Malfoy said while glancing at his sweater-clad left arm.

"Surely you didn't think it was just an over-glorified tattoo?" All three men adopted guilty faces indicating that, yes, that is exactly what they had thought. "Well given Professor Snape's condition I don't want to run any tests on him, but since we have a real live Death Eater willing and able to help us find an answer I can think of no better solution."

"Run tests?" Malfoy sounded faint.

Hermione grew impatient. "Or I could just cut it out of your arm if you prefer!"

"Oh, that won't be necessary." Malfoy subconsciously took a few steps back from her.

"Fine. But we'll need a place to work. I was thinking Grimmauld Place."

"We should work at my house," Malfoy said. Ron raised an eyebrow, but Hermione just laughed.

"Seriously? Are you sure I won't spontaneously combust if I set foot in there, like the devil in a church?" Hermione flung her hands out and made an exploding noise.

"Very funny Granger. We have a library to rival Hogwarts' with an extensive Dark Arts collection, loads of room to work, and all the peace and quiet you could ever hope for. Not to mention a house elf with field medic qualifications. Just in case."

"Alright!" _An unpaid house elf with field medic qualifications you git. _"You had me at 'a library to rival Hogwarts'.'" The most delighted smile crossed Malfoy's face then, which Hermione took as a bad omen. "Ron's coming."

The smile left Malfoy's face. "Right."

"We should leave right away. Healer Andrell said if Professor Snape can't start healing himself soon his wounds could get infected." She looked at Harry. "I'm assuming you want to—"

"Yeah, I'll stay here. Let me know if you find out anything."

Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy all took the lift to the first floor waiting room. It was packed with harried looking families and screaming babies. Hermione was surprised to see a queue had formed to use the floo, and a second fireplace had been added to separate incoming traffic.

Malfoy was receiving thinly veiled death glares from various witches and wizards around the room. Hermione was offended; that was her job! She tried to shield him from view as much as possible (which was exactly not at all, as he was excessively tall and blonde) until it was their turn at the fireplace.

Hermione stepped out of the chimney in Malfoy Manor, shaking her robes to rid them of soot.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Malfoy smiled with pride. Hermione couldn't begrudge him that, it was a lovely home.

"Humble indeed," Ron snuffed.

"Lovely sitting room you have here." The witch looked around at the beautifully detailed tapestries.

"Yeah, if you like sitting with a stick up your ass," Ron mumbled.

"You're funny. Technically it's a drawing room," Malfoy waited with his hands in his pockets while she took in the surroundings.

"I don't see any easels," Ron said is his most humiliatingly perplexed voice. Hermione really hated that voice.

"It comes from the term 'withdrawing room,' as in 'let's withdraw here for the evening and do girl stuff.' It's my mother's room."

"Girls can draw." _That voice again!_

"Indeed. Shall we?" Malfoy gestured out the room's wide entrance.

They went through a dark corridor and up a grandiose staircase. The great hallway was decorated similarly to the drawing room. Hermione was relieved there were no screaming paintings or house elves calling her a mudblood. But then, Malfoy could do that all by himself.

The second door on the left was the library. Hermione's breath caught. The Malfoy's library was huge. It had to have well over twice as many books as Hogwarts' library, and while the stacks at Hogwarts had to crowd together to save space, this library had a huge amount of open air in the center. The left and right walls were covered with books from floor to ceiling, spotted with the occasional window, and the massive stacks were set back slightly with a dozen large tables and chairs in the space in front of them. The room was over two stories tall and had a cathedral ceiling. Hermione had not believed in love at first sight until now.

"Like it?" Malfoy's voice was enthusiastic and overly proud.

"Oh yes."

"It's yours."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Is that yours?'"

Hermione looked where Malfoy was pointing. It couldn't be! She hurried over to a table near the center of the room and picked up the notebook that was lying there. It had been a gift from Professor McGonagall that came with the time turner. "In case you need to order your thoughts. Many who time travel find it useful, if not imperative," she had said.

It was bound in beautiful lime-green leather, and had a magnetic clasp on the front. Hermione had used the book well, and it never seemed to run out of pages. Apparently it was fireproof too, as she thought she had lost it in the fire at the Burrow. "I thought this was destroyed! How—?"

"I really have the most brilliant house elves. They are so skilled at logistics it borders on precognition." Again pride crept into his voice. Having annoyed her so much at Hogwarts, she felt she at least now knew where it was coming from. Plus he sounded like a proud father at that particular moment. Malfoy grew uneasy when Hermione just kept staring at him with wide eyes. "I hope you don't feel it's an intrusion. I assure you they were just trying to help."

"Please you must let me thank them!" she finally managed.

Malfoy snorted. "Granger for the love of god! Not every house elf is like Dobby! Sure my dad was an ass, but—" Hermione put on her Very Angry face. Ron came to stand near her to show support. "Alright, alright. You can if you want to. But I don't recommend it."

"What are you on about?" Ron finally spoke up.

Malfoy was quiet a moment. "You can if you want, but it will probably make them uncomfortable. They are _incredibly_ shy. It's just in their nature. Imagine the shyest person you know, giving them an award for something they've done, and then shoving them up on stage and making them give an hour long acceptance speech. It's not much of a reward, is it?"

"Then what _do_ you do to thank them? Surely there must be something."

"Well most house elves like to collect things. I believe Wikket is the one who brought your stuff here. You met her earlier. She collects keychains."

"Keychains?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"Hey don't ask me I just work here. We have one that collects metal tags off those ridiculous muggle vehicles!" Hermione looked at Ron who grew red but didn't say anything. His dad did the exact same thing. "He has them from all over the world, even one from each state in the US I'm told— except, er, Hawaii. Yeah, that's it."

Hermione had to admit she was a bit touched that Malfoy knew so much about his house elves. "Alright then I'll get her a keychain. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, where do you want to get started?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Let me start by running a few tests on your Mark." Hermione saw Ron make a knife-across-the-throat gesture out of the corner of her eye. Draco fidgeted nervously. "It won't hurt a bit I promise."

The tall blonde gritted his teeth as he pulled his sweater over his head. Honestly, it was nearly summertime; why was he wearing a sweater? He undid the button at his left wrist and pulled the sleeve of his pristine white shirt up, revealing his Dark Mark. The fidgeting grew worse.

Hermione stepped closer to Malfoy, who was looking furiously around the room, at the floor, the ceiling, the book stacks, out the window: anywhere but her. "Seriously Malfoy, I wouldn't hurt you."

Now he looked down and said quietly, "I know. I trust you." It felt strangely intimate as she took his arm in her hand. His impossibly soft skin was incredibly hot, and he briefly turned grey eyes intense with despair on her before looking back at the floor.

Hermione could feel the panic radiating off of him in waves and felt his heart thumping through even her hesitant touch. She was not sure she could properly concentrate with him in this condition. "Ron can you go see if they have a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art?_ I want to check on something."

That got his attention. "_Secrets of the Darkest Art? _Are you sure you want to be seen in the company of that book?" He was smirking-almost-smiling now and growing exponentially more still as a function of Ron's retreating back.

"It's a long story. Try to _relax_." Hermione put a bit of magic behind the last word. She had first learned to do that when Grawp picked her up in the Forbidden Forest. At the time it was a matter of survival, and she had reacted on instinct. Gradually she learned she could emphasize the meaning of certain words or phrases this way and was working on learning more about the subject. She now called it her "special voice." Unfortunately there was virtually no literature on the matter which led her to believe it might be considered a Dark Art. But how could it be if she was using it to help people relax, for instance?

Hermione shook her head to clear it and focused on the matter at hand.

"Where did you go just now?" Malfoy asked, looking like he had been trying to catch her eye.

"Disneyland. Ready then?" Malfoy nodded, and she sent a pulse spell towards the Dark Mark. It bounced off and returned to her wand, only to shoot out again. It would identify and catalog each spell contained in the object – in this case the Mark – one pulse at a time. Hermione was more wary than surprised when her spell pulsed ninety-seven times before stopping. She was going to have to decode all of that. "All done."

"That's it?"

"Yup. Now I just need to interpret the results and find the spells I'm looking for, if they exist."

"What exactly did you do?" Malfoy quickly pulled down his sleeve and donned his thrice-damned sweater.

"Well I used a spell to sort of ping you like a computer."

"A co-what-er?"

"Er… like a bat uses echolocation. It sends a signal and interprets what's in front of it based on what it receives back. A bit more complicated, but that's the general idea," Hermione said.

"I've never heard of a spell like that before."

"Well I haven't been able to find any evidence of anyone doing it before," Hermione admitted.

Malfoy stared at her. Blink. Blink. Blink. "Hermione that's brilliant."

Hermione felt the heat of her blush and cursed how easily it came. "Well I had loads of inspiration with the networking utility, and sonar in submarines, and of course bats have been doing it for the gods know how many millions of years."

She blushed yet again as her mother's words came to mind: "_When we are paid a compliment, the polite thing to say is 'thank you.'" _

"I mean, thank you."

Malfoy had been listening quietly during her rant, quite amused. "Don't mention it."

Ron slammed a book on the table they were near, sending dust flying everywhere. Hermione coughed, and she and Ron sat down. "What do you want with that book anyway? How do you even know it exists?" Malfoy asked curiously. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

"To answer your second question," Hermione said while digging into her beaded bag, "I've already got one." She pulled out her copy and un-shrunk it, laying the two books side by side. They looked identical, and Malfoy was giving her a look she could not read.

"To answer your first question, I want to compare mine to yours." Ron started snickering. "Compare the _books_, Ronald! These were made before copy spells were invented, so there were slight variations between books. Sometimes whole parts of books were left out if the person transcribing it, or the person that commissioned the transcription, didn't think it was relevant or useful."

"You have your own copy, so I can only assume you know what this is about. Do you really think Professor Snape's been splitting his soul?"

"Not splitting. That alone would not explain his symptoms. Anyway, talking isn't going to do him any good right now."

Malfoy tried not to be too offended that he had been kicked out of his own library. "I'll leave you two to it then," he said with a parting glare at Ron, and sauntered off.

"Well he didn't have to leave. I just need some quiet," Hermione said to Ron, who could not have agreed less.

"Right, what's better than being in a dragon's lair alone? I know! Being in a dragon's lair _with the bloody dragon_!"

"Malfoy is trying to help us Ronald, just relax or I won't be able to get any work done."

Ron stood up, pushing his chair back and towered over her. "He was schmoozing you!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm a filthy muggle-born remember?" Hermione matched Ron glare for glare.

"Maybe, but I know schmoozing when I see it!"

Hermione had had enough. She hated jealousy. It was a monstrously ugly trait. It started wars and ended friendships and she wanted no part of it.

"Shut up! You're just jealous!" she huffed, and continued on before Ron could speak. "Jealousy is an archaic chemical reaction left over from the days when men would bludgeon their chosen mate over the head and drag them back to their cave. It has no place in a civilized society. I'm not telling you not to feel jealous: everyone does. I'm saying, when you do feel jealous, you need to approach the situation with calm, logic and _let it go._ "

Ron was genuinely thinking about what she was saying, and his chest had un-puffed a bit. He also hadn't resorted to beating on it ape style, so that was a good sign. She felt it was important he agree with her thoughts on this before their relationship progressed any further. "So get over it, or go away!"

Ron went from normalish looking to red faced all over again. Hermione sighed inwardly. He was about to bolt. His mouth was still opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but she knew him. He was about to turn tail and abandon her for a second time. "Be that way then!" He said, and left the room.

He would probably be back, and she hoped he would. She really did love him, but she was not going to play the jealousy game for the rest of her life.

Hermione sighed and set about comparing the two books. Finding what she was looking for was easier than she had thought it would be. It was right in the index on page ii. She had been right about a chapter being missing, which explained certain references that didn't make sense in Dumbledore's copy of the book.

The chapter was called "On the Transference of the Intact Soul." She quickly flipped to it and began reading. What she found surprised her.

The first part was comparing and contrasting transferring the entire soul versus splitting the soul to form a horcrux. For one, transferring an entire soul did not require murder. Furthermore, the book spoke of it as if it was, if not common, an accepted practice at the time of its publication.

This chapter also mentioned that having a split soul would not prevent one's wounds from fully healing, as in the case of entire soul transference. This was the reference Hermione thought she had read elsewhere in the book. This had to be what explained Professor Snape's condition. But how had it happened? And more importantly, how could she undo it?

She re-read the chapter a few times, and compared the rest of the books, reviewing her knowledge of horcruxes at the same time. At some point, a platter with various fruits, crackers, and cheeses had appeared next to her. When she was done eating, the platter magically disappeared, just like at Hogwarts.

Hermione decided she had gleaned all of the information she could from this chapter, writing a few things down in her notebook. If entire soul transference was a common practice, there must be other books on it.

She got up, grabbing Malfoy's copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, and pushed her chair back, its legs scraping on the worn wooden floor.

She heard a loud _pop_ behind her, and a high pitched voice, "Please let me do that for Miss."

Most of the sentence was drowned out by Hermione's startled scream. It echoed around all four walls of the giant room, suddenly making her feel very small and alone. When she turned around, Wikket was standing there, her head down. She held out her arms, and Hermione was still too startled to do anything but hand the book over. "Does Miss need anything else?"

Hermione took a moment to settle her breath, telling her fluttering heart to beat normally. "Do you have anything on intact soul transference?" she asked.

"Right away Miss."

"Are you alright?" At last a voice she recognized: she turned to see Malfoy walking towards her. He was out of breath; he must have run.

"Oh fine, Wikket just startled me. Not used to having house elves pop up around me all the time." Hermione was embarrassed, then embarrassed at her own embarrassment.

"Sorry about that. I'll speak with her."

"No please don't! She just wanted to help me!" Hermione looked alarmed.

"Calm down. I wasn't going to bludgeon her to death. Just ask her to apparate where you could see her. What do you think I am, my father?" Malfoy pleaded.

"Erm, well…"

"Thanks a lot. Where has she gone to anyway?"

Hermione looked towards the stacks. "She went to go find me some books."

"I think she's taken a particular liking to you. Make sure you say thank you." Malfoy's mischievous smile looked less diabolical now, perhaps even endearing.

"Very funny."

"No seriously. I thought about what you said, and I think a simple 'thanks' would not be poorly received. Just don't do it in front of too many people."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. I can do that. _Thanks_." She grinned.

"I meant the house elves!" he said with consternation. It was amazing that Malfoy didn't get debilitating tension headaches.

"I know! I know! I'm just kidding. Remember how we talked about relaxing?"

"Right. Well I'll let you get back to your work."

"Wait!" Hermione didn't like the prospect of being alone in the library again. She couldn't possibly tell Malfoy she was afraid of the… light, though. He stepped closer to her when she didn't say anything else. "I know you're not your father. And I know we've all grown up since school. But I have to ask, why did you take the Dark Mark?"

Malfoy sighed, and looked for a moment like he was far, far away. Hermione was worried he would not speak, but then he sat down. She took a seat across from him and laid her hands delicately on the table. She didn't know if she should look caring, threatening, or a mixture of both, so she put on her just-Hermione face.

"The short, short version is 'I was scared.'" That made sense. Voldemort ruled through fear, as he was incapable of ruling through love. Hermione nodded once to show she understood.

This seemed to encourage Malfoy as he looked less withdrawn when he continued. "The not so short version is I was picking winners and losers. I didn't want to die. I didn't want my mum to die. I thought Voldemort would win; he was so _vicious_. By the time the Dark Lord asked me to join his inner circle, well— no one says no to Voldemort. I was a coward. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not going to deny it."

"You were a child."

"Barely. And why are you trying to assuage my guilt?"

Why _was_ she trying to assuage his guilt? He was looking at her as if expecting an answer. "What's done is done. You made the right decision in the end."

"My mum made the right decision in the end. I didn't stay. I didn't help. We all just left." Draco was wildly avoiding eye contact with her again.

"Well you're helping now." Hermione asserted. She didn't need him wallowing. "So let's focus on that, and take it one day at a time, okay?"

Draco was still looking at the table, painfully squeezing one hand with the other. She hesitated one moment before reaching over to put her hand on his. He stopped fidgeting and looked at her. "Okay," he agreed, but his voice box only managed to produce a crackled whisper.

She snatched away her hand as Wikket returned with a tower of books precariously balanced in her little arms. Hermione got up and started taking them off the top, laying them out on the table. Malfoy did the same, and soon the literature was organized in front of her.

There were eight books in total, each looking more ancient than the last. Glancing at the titles, four looked to be on healing, three looked to be on the Dark Arts, and one had the easily recognizable bindings of a law book. Malfoy came to sit next to her so he could see the titles properly. "Will Miss need anything else right now?"

Hermione's heart melted a bit at the house elf's sweet cadence. "No this is perfect. Thank you Wikket."

Moving slowly, so as if to not startle Hermione again, Wikket continuously nodded and bowed as she backed out of the giant room. Hermione was mortified. "What have I done?"

"Don't worry about it. You'll both get more comfortable with each other. Now what are we looking for?"

"Information on transferring a person's entire soul."

"You really think that's what happened to Professor Snape?"

"Yes I do," she said simply and waited for him to object, but he did not. "But the lives of two people I care about are at stake. Before I do anything I'm going to be damn sure."

Malfoy nodded at that. "How can I help?"

Hermione wanted to start with the oldest book first, so she had Malfoy help her put them in order by publication date. The four medicinal books turned out to be the oldest; the books on the Dark Arts were the newest.

It seemed like the practice of whatever had happened had been deemed inappropriate at some point along the line. Hermione began to think of her "special voice" and whether or not it would be looked down upon now. Maybe her companion would know more.

Sitting next to him, a guest in his home, she felt wrong calling him Malfoy. That was his father, and the name brought terrible memories. She could not however, bring herself to use his first name. Every time she had heard the name Draco it was said by someone with their nose stuck in the air. "Drake?" She said, hoping he wouldn't laugh at her.

He just looked up from his reading like nothing unusual had happened. Hermione relaxed marginally. "What makes something a Dark Art?"

Draco sat back in his chair. "Well," he said, "killing is bad."

"You know I actually figured that one out already, _ferret._"

"Just covering all the bases, _mudblood,_" he was smiling widely while looking at her obliquely.

"Stop!" Hermione said. "You're making yourself sound ignorant! Don't you know; blood has very little to do with it. The ability to attract and manipulate magical energy is written in DNA, not blood. It's a recessive trait in an amazingly simple inheritance mechanism. The individual power of a witch or wizard is then determined by several other influences such as intelligence, will power, and external factors: none of which have anything to do with magic. In rare cases during cellular reproduction, sequencing errors or chromosomal aberrations, such as a reciprocal translocation, can lead to a magic-wielding offspring when neither parent was a carrier."

Draco was biting his lower lip, but nodding at her. "Furthermore, all of our cells, except our reproductive cells, contain mostly identical copies of our DNA. So why not discriminate based on liver cells, or nerve cells? If you're going to insult me, at least get it right. The proper term would be 'mudDNA.'"

Watching Draco's face contort during her monologue meant even she was smiling by the end of it. He was the first to break: a sharp exhale of breath and he looked like he had swallowed something sour. She couldn't help but laugh at his face, and they were soon both cackling in earnest. Their laughter echoed throughout the library as her screams had shortly before.

Once Hermione could breathe again, she started wiping away the tears in her eyes with her sleeve. Draco handed her a handkerchief. Of course he would have handkerchiefs. It was white with a cursive letter "M" embroidered on it.

"MudDNA. Got it. My mistake. Feel better?" Malfoy said, looking far more relaxed.

"Much, thank you." She cleared her throat. "Now, where were we?"

"Soul stealing."

"I'm not entirely sure it was stealing," she said while pulling the first book towards her. She looked at the index where she ran into her first hurdle. "This is in German."

"It happens," Malfoy said while resting his head on his hand, studying her.

Hermione ignored him. She knew a few translation spells she could use in a pinch, but in a delicate situation like this she really would prefer a proper translation. "I'll need someone to read this for me."

"Kapitel Eins. Einleitung."

"I meant read and translate!"

"Oh you wanted it in English?" Malfoy managed to maintain an airy tone while trying not to smirk at her. He looked through the index which was two pages long, and had several subdivisions within each chapter. "Yes, here. There is a section on what they call 'Seelensammlung.' Roughly, 'soul reaping.'"

Hermione was nervous about what they would find as Draco flipped the delicate pages.

"Here we go. There's a story about a Sensenmann—a Grim Reaper, like in the tale of the Deathly Hallows." Hermione was now fully alert and staring intently at Draco.

"_A_ Grim Reaper? You mean there's more than one?" Hermione asked.

"Well of course there's more than one. People drop dead all the time. What do you think they are, Santa Claus? Well it reports the story as a factual event, if you can believe that." Draco looked at her. "But something tells me you do. So, it tells the story of a Grim Reaper who went to take a suffering soul away before he had to endure any more misery. The man's healer, who also happened to be his lover, begged the Grim Reaper not to take him. So inspiring were his pleas and so strong was their love that the Grim Reaper granted the Healer's request, instead showing him how to house his lover's soul until he could heal his body.

"The healer followed the instructions, and was able to save his love. He passed on the information to a select few in the medical community and the information was eventually recorded in this book. And they all lived happily ever after, except for the Reaper as he got sacked." Draco looked up at Hermione who was vigorously taking notes. "I improvised that last part."

She smiled now. "I could hardly tell. I don't quite understand though. How did taking out his soul save him? Wouldn't he be better off with it intact?"

Draco bit his lower lip, as he always did when he was thinking. "It doesn't say specifically in here. But from what information there is, and what I've been taught to believe, the Grim Reapers take a person's thinking soul to prevent it from feeling a slow agonizing death. In their absence, I believe that the soul would leave the body of its own accord: once it could no longer handle the pain, or it was called. This would not necessary coincide with the time at which the body was incapable of sustaining life. It's usually assumed this gap in time would be minutes, hours at most. Still long enough to save someone, but Professor Snape has been comatose for a week."

Hermione digested the information. "That is true, but he has also been in a modern medical facility the whole time receiving potions and staying hydrated. He was also, I'm assuming, quite healthy before the incident?"

Draco shrugged. Also, Harry had been near him almost constantly, and given how the horcruxes had called to each other, it's possible that proximity helped Snape's condition.

"You keep saying 'the _thinking_ soul.' What specifically does that mean?" she asked.

"Well, again going on conjecture here, the thinking soul seems to refer to the entirety of one's psyche: thinking, feeling, and sensing. It's what we would take with us to the afterlife. If one's soul is damaged or divided, only one part can be the thinking soul at a given time. For most people, their 'soul' and 'thinking soul' are one in the same, but in the case of someone that has made a horcrux" Draco waved inclusively at _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, "only one bit could be the thinking soul at a given time. He studied her carefully as he spoke, probably gauging her reaction.

She sat in the chair thinking about everything he had just said and nervously biting her fingernails, fully aware of his intense gaze. Draco resisted the urge to smack her hand away from her mouth. "Hermione, why were you researching horcruxes?"

Hermione had been waiting for that question ever since Draco indicated he was familiar with _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. She stopped biting her nails, and looked into his gray eyes. "_Tell me the truth_," she said in her "special" voice. She hated to feel manipulative, but this was not just her secret to tell. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Okay, if that's what you want."

The light in the library had dimmed as afternoon passed into evening. Sconces around the vast room had wide pillar candles in them flickering to life.

"Voldemort was creating horcruxes."

Malfoy's lips parted slightly, and he sat back in his chair. "In the plural? You mean he made more than one?"

"He made seven."

Malfoy exhaled sharply, looking like someone had just punched him in the stomach. "No wonder he was insane."

Hermione nodded. "Dumbledore found out about them, and had reason to believe he had made seven. 'The most powerful number in magic,' he had said. We knew that if any of them survived, even if Harry killed Voldemort—"

"He'd just keep coming back. So is that what you three have been up to this year?"

"Yes, but Harry had unknowingly destroyed the first horcrux some time ago. Dumbledore destroyed another that cursed him; that's why he was dying." Hermione carefully watched his face, but all it showed was curiosity.

"Drake, I don't know how to say this." By now she doubted Draco was putting on a front, and realized that hearing some of the things his father had done would probably hurt him. Well, they had hurt Ron and Harry and countless others. He would deal with it.

"Just say it." Draco said; his stormy eyes brought to mind the image of a puppy lost in the rain.

"The first horcrux Harry destroyed was Tom Riddle's diary in our second year. It made it into Ginny Weasley's school books, and she began writing in it. It was put there by the person in whose care Voldemort had placed it before he came across Lily Evans. That person was your father."

She was relieved that Draco's face showed no signs of this knowledge, but his evident pain gnawed at her heart. He just closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw tightly. Unmoving, they sat like that as the minutes ticked on. She felt tears come to her eyes. "Please say something," she pleaded.

Draco finally opened his eyes, but seeing her just made him more upset. He got up and pushed his chair back, tipping it over. He turned and stalked away, but Hermione was thankful when he stopped a few tables away. His left hand was in his pocket: his right hand worrying at his hair. His shoes whispered along the wood floor as he paced.

"He lied to me," Draco began slowly. Hermione watched him, folding her hands in her lap, her legs crossed at her ankles. "He always said he acted out of fear, or to protect the family name, which is bad enough." Draco grew more agitated as he spoke, and sparks of errant magic began to flit through the air. It would have been beautiful, were she not so worried for him. "Voldemort was gone, nearly dead, and he tried to get him back. He lied to me about everything!" He screamed, kicking a nearby chair across the room.

Even though she saw its path, Hermione started when it shattered at the furthest wall. She looked out the window there, noticing it had started to rain. Thick drops of water slanted down all of the windows, and the howling wind ushered out the fading evening, leaving only darkness in its stead.

Draco turned then, focusing in on her intensely. She had to strain to hear his voice. "He was worse than Bellatrix. He knew what he was getting himself into. At least she never pretended not to." He started walking towards her, "And you—" She tensed at the tone of anger. "After all they did to you. After all I did to you. How can you even shed a tear for me?"

Hermione was indeed still leaking. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing. She stared at him transfixed as he methodically closed the distance between them. He turned her chair towards him and got on his knees in front of her, searching her eyes, for what she did not know.

Ever so gently, he took her left hand in his right, and began slowly pushing up her soft silk sleeve. Hermione's heart was racing, but her breath was calm. Her head felt fuzzy, but she was acutely aware of his wool sweater tickling her legs where her skirt didn't cover them. Even if she could move, she didn't want to stop him. After all, it was only fair, as she had done basically the same thing to him earlier.

Draco stopped moving and she saw he was looking at where his Aunt Bellatrix had carved the word "Mudblood" into her arm. She had healed it as best she could, but she would have that scar for the rest of her life. Draco was the first person, besides his Aunt, to see it.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her now. "I'm so sorry." There was profound sadness in his voice, and the raw emotion of it pushed her over the edge. Tears were streaming down her face in earnest now, and she began sobbing. Looking down, she tried to hide her face behind her free hand.

Draco was still holding her left arm, and gently rubbing his thumb over it. Her scar was a bit sensitive, but his touch was warm and reassuring. He held onto the arm of her chair, a comforting presence until she could stop crying.

He produced another handkerchief and passed it over to her. This one was pale green and had the initials "DLM" embroidered in forest green. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and used a silent, wandless cleaning spell. She passed the crisp folded square back to Draco.

"Keep it," he smiled faintly, "I seem to have this effect on women."

Hermione resisted the urge to cling to his offering, instead tucking it in her blouse. "Anyway Drake, you're clearly smarter than the lot of them. Bellatrix spelled 'mudDNA' wrong," she tried to joke.

Draco's smile did not so much fade: more it was forgotten as a new emotion overtook his face. His hypnotic gaze turned more intense as his pupils dilated until there was but a ring of gray surrounding glossy black. Hermione nearly choked.

They were both blissfully frozen in time until a piercing owl screech rent the air. Hermione looked up just in time to see a brown ball of wet feathers collide against the closed window with a thud. "Oh no! Errol!"

Draco hopped up and sprinted to the window, throwing it open and sticking his arm out. The windows had actually been significantly dampening the noise of the storm outside. Now she could hear its full force.

When Draco brought his arm in, a drenched, tired-looking Errol was perched on it. "You know this owl?"

Hermione nodded. "It's the Weasley's."

Draco looked affronted. He had Errol turn to face the other way on his arm then brought the bird's back to his chest to keep him warm. Hermione went to untie the letter attached to Errol's foot. "Hermione Granger" it said, in Ron's chicken scratch print. Ron had spelled the note to be waterproof; too bad he hadn't had the same foresight for his bird.

A house elf she didn't recognize arrived shortly with a few towels, and Draco started muttering drying spells at the owl.

"So letting house elves do the work they love isn't okay, but forcing an owl to work well past his retirement is?" Draco sounded angry, but she didn't think it was at her. He continued to dry and warm the bird.

She once again had no reply to him, so instead she read Ron's note. "I'm sorry. Please come home," it said. Hermione sighed.

"Is everything okay?" Errol now looked like a giant puff ball, and was nipping playfully at Draco's fingers.

"Fine. I should probably get going. It's getting late."

Draco looked slightly crestfallen, but nodded. "Continue tomorrow morning then?"

"I look forward to it," Hermione said genuinely.

This seemed to cheer Draco up. "If you don't need to send a reply, he should probably stay in our owlry tonight. It's really awful out there Hermione."

She nodded vigorously, again touched by his odd moments of caring.

"When you are ready to come tomorrow just call Wikket's name. Wherever you are, she'll come and get you and bring you to me."

"Wow, she would really come all that way if I just call her?"

Draco smiled tenderly, and squeezed her shoulder. "For you, my dear, I think she would go to the Moon."


	4. Castor and Pollux

Chapter 4 — Castor and Pollux

* * *

Harry sat quietly in the sterility of the hospital room, surrounded by white that would have been oppressive had the lights not been dimmed.

Four white walls, an extra wide white door, white trimmed windows with white curtains, and white sheets on the hospital bed all served to further drown out Professor Snape's pale features, leaving his dark hair a collection of raven's feathers in a sea of cotton.

The mind-numbing stasis into which Snape had fallen was encroaching upon Harry, who constantly found his body tired but his mind alert. It would have been nearly unbearable had the man causing his discomfort not also provided his respite. Harry may have been abysmal at Occlumency, but he had become adept at clearing his mind.

At present, however, this ability was failing him spectacularly, as his mind kept wandering back to the revelations of earlier today. His first feeling had been panic: If he really was housing this man's soul, had it been destroyed along with Voldemort's? He didn't _feel_ like he was holding anyone else inside him. But then, he had also been unable to determine if he could feel the part of Voldemort's soul inside him as distinguishable from his mental link to the now deceased wizard.

Then he thought back to the way Snape's memories had behaved, and realized it was unlikely Snape's soul was destroyed. Also, it was unlikely that Snape's body would still be surviving if his soul was completely gone.

So what did that mean for Harry? Somehow he knew he needed to be right here, at his former professor's side, to keep him safe.

He had just begun to wonder if Hermione had found anything when the witch herself walked into the room. Harry was immediately struck by the drastic change in her demeanor. She looked… _happy_, and care-free, and relaxed. Words he had not used to describe anyone in ages.

"Nice to see you," he said, her exuberance energizing him.

She walked around to the back wall where his chair was and give him a big hug. "How are you?"

"Okay. Nothing changed. Big surprise."

"Have you eaten?"

"Hospital food, if that counts. Did you find anything?" he inquired as she returned to a chair near the door. He got up from the narrow leather recliner he had been occupying to join her. The two friends huddled close.

"A few things," she said, pulling out a notebook. "First, I'm in love with Drake's library."

Harry was surprised; he had assumed Ron had been the reason for her sudden cheer. "Drake?" he intoned, barely suppressing a laugh. "And does Drakey-poo have any other startling assets?"

"Oh shut it," she said with a glare, but her betraying face turned crimson in just the right places to make her even more beautiful. "I used my pulse spell to ping his Mark," Hermione began.

"Uh huh. And did he ping you back?" He received a bop on the head with her notebook for that comment.

"I'll have to interpret the results tomorrow. The Dark Mark is far more complicated than I had anticipated. It contains ninety-seven set spells, and possibly even more conduits. We got a bit further on what might have caused Snape's memories to rebound to you." Hermione was intensely referencing her notes now, speaking half to him and half to the pages. "Apparently a process called 'soul-reaping' was a rare but not unheard of practice at one point."

Harry blanched at the term.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not death. It's a human housing another person's soul temporarily. It was only done in the direst of circumstances. We haven't yet found exactly how it was done, or undone. Also, it seems the practice was disavowed a few hundred years ago. Unfortunately, I've no idea why."

"By 'we', I'm guessing you don't mean you and Ron?"

"I didn't intend for it Harry, but Draco had a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and seemed to know all about it."

"That's not creepy at all."

"I told him about Voldemort's Horcruxes, but I didn't tell him that you were one. It was just the beginning of our research."

"And why does he know so much about Horcruxes, Hermione?"

"I… didn't think to ask. I mean, the book's in his library. I'll see what he says tomorrow; I'm sorry."

"Do you trust him?" Harry asked, not angry, simply trying to understand.

Hermione thought about the one piece of advice her mother had given her before she went off to Hogwarts: '_Trust your instincts,'_ she had said. Hermione had taken the advice to heart. Her instincts were sometimes overly paranoid when telling her who not to trust, but they had never led her astray when telling her who she could trust. They were telling her to trust Draco. "Yes."

"Okay," he said. "I trust your judgment, Hermione. Do what you need to do." He patted her hand in reassurance.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Now get some sleep. You look awful."

"Thanks, you too." They stood up for a departing hug, and she left the room.

Harry returned to his post at the far wall. The narrow leather recliner he occupied was amazingly not terrible. It could even be laid fully flat so he could properly sleep. He put it in and upright position so he could meditate.

* * *

Hermione left Professor Snape's room and apparated to the field outside the Burrow. It was not raining here, but gusts of wind accosted her fragile frame the moment she set foot on the ragged grass. She was relieved to step inside.

"Hermione! So good to see you, dear." Mrs. Weasley was walking towards her, her warm eyes and open arms a welcome sight. She hugged her back in earnest, squeezing her eyes shut. It made her miss her mother and father. "You've missed dinner, but I saved you a plate."

"Oh thank you!"

"Just give me a moment to warm it up." Mrs. Weasley disappeared into the kitchen.

She sat at the table, looking around the room. Despite the fact that the Burrow was newly rebuilt, it seemed in a perpetual state of arrested decay. Organized clutter was everywhere. Someone had been quick to work bits of dirt and dust into those crevices you could never quite get clean, making this the Weasley's home once again.

The matron of the house returned with a plate of steaming food. Hermione inhaled it, happily leaving the burden of conversation on the older woman. When she was finished, she was sent upstairs to Ginny's room.

Had Harry been here, they would have waited twenty minutes and exchanged places: an arrangement they had worked out the previous summer. They figured Mrs. Weasley would not be as mad at Harry and Hermione, her guests, as being the instigators in room swapping in the event they were found out.

As it was, she sat and talked with Ginny for a bit. The younger girl was delightful. She was concerned for Harry, but her mother kept warning her off going to visit him. "I think she just doesn't want me to see everything awful happening at the hospital."

"Well hopefully we'll sort Snape out soon." Hermione smiled encouragingly.

"I hope so. Every time I say I'm going to see him she comes up with something that absolutely must be done that moment and requires my undivided attention," Ginny said with marked frustration.

"She's just scared she's going to lose her only little girl."

"She already did! I'm not little anymore." Ginny sat down in a huff.

"I know that. Everyone does but her. But Ginny, trust me when I say she never really will. Just accept it and work around it. Are you planning on going back to Hogwarts for the rest of the year?"

"I hope mum will let me. She's quite repressive! At least you and Ron are here too: spreads out the smothering."

"Glad to be of service."

"What about you?" Ginny asked. "I mean, are you going to return to school?"

"I've missed the entire year; I don't really see the point. I'll probably have to come back for seventh year if I ever want to get a job."

"Nonsense! You're brilliant, beautiful, and terrifying."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "But there's so much left to learn!"

"If you insist. I won't object; we would be classmates then!"

Hermione smiled at the thought: maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. She would have to give the idea more consideration once Professor Snape was awake and well, and her parents were back… and knew she existed. "That would be fun."

Ginny stretched out in her bed staring at the ceiling, her hands folded under her head. Hermione, as a birthday gift to her, had made a small part of the ceiling bewitched to constantly look like it was storming. Ginny loved lightning and rain. She said it made her feel connected to the heavens.

"Maybe I'll sneak out and see Harry later," Ginny hazarded.

"Just be careful. We don't know if all of the Death Eaters have been caught."

"Oh you sound like my mother! And anyway they have obviously not all been caught; Draco Malfoy is still on the loose," Ginny said with a snort, not noticing Hermione's sudden grimace.

The lightning from the ceiling danced hypnotically in the ginger's eyes.

"I'm going to go see Ron then. Goodnight," she said a bit shortly, and silently apparated to Ron's room. She was getting very good at silent apparation when the occasion called for it. This was a necessity if she ever wanted to be an Auror.

"About time! I was getting worried." Ron greeted her with a dopey grin and crushing bear hug.

Hermione sat on the bed next to Ron. She slouched into him, tired, and sore, and wanting nothing more than to sleep. "I'm fine, Ron," she said, pulling away slightly to return his smile. He brushed a curl out of her face.

"Did you find out anything?" Ron asked.

"Yes, I think we're on the right track." She briefly outlined everything she had discussed with Harry. "We should get some sleep. I'm going back there tomorrow morning."

"Do we have to? I mean you already analyzed his Mark."

"His library is an invaluable resource. We would be fools not to utilize it. Besides, D—Malfoy and I have already found the books we need, I think. We just need to analyze them further." Ron looked profoundly unhappy, but in the end nodded his agreement.

Hermione was by this point yawning constantly. She got up to turn off the light, but Ron's hand stopped her. "What's this?" he asked. His hand had pulled aside the left shoulder of her blouse.

Hermione looked down, but only had a moment to note the dark green letters "DLM" before he was ranting at her.

"_His library is an invaluable resource,"_ he mocked. "Let me guess, you never intended me to go back with you tomorrow?" Ron's fury seemed to steam from every pore. Hermione shook her head and took a step away from him, but he was still holding onto her blouse.

Her movement only seemed to upset Ron more, as he pulled his hand away, ripping her blouse and left bra strap in the process. The pale green fabric fell to the ground, and Ron just stared at it with disgust for a moment.

"_Already found the books we need. _And how does that involve his possessions being in your lingerie?"

Hermione was too furious at his overreaction and frightened of his fury to speak. All she could do was shake her head. This was evidently not the answer he was looking for.

He began to stalk towards her; the glazed look on his face made her adrenaline spike. "_A fool not to utilize his resources_," he screamed, backing her into a corner, "after the way he treated you for SEVEN YEARS."

He spoke with his hands wildly flailing and clenched into fists, "Maybe that's what I was doing wrong. Maybe I was too gentle on the shrew!" She had backed up to a wall and began sinking down it, one hand holding her blouse over her shoulder. Silent tears started to pour down her face at his hurtful words, and he reached out to grab a hold of her, "you two-bit whore!"

Hermione felt like she had the wind knocked out of her by her panic alone. She somehow managed to hiss out "Wikket!" or maybe she just thought it very hard, but the house elf was there, grabbed her arm, and had apparated her away within a heartbeat.

Hermione found herself looking around a dark room while trying to calm herself. She didn't see Wikket anywhere, but there was a bed nearby. She started once her eyes adjusted enough to see there was someone in the bed, then relaxed slightly when she realized it was Draco. Evidently Wikket had taken the order to bring her to him quite literally. She let out a breath, which turned into a whimper, and Draco sat straight up.

His eyes immediately locked on her. "Hermione?" he said, getting out of bed. He grabbed a robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around his tall frame.

"What happened?" he asked. His eyes held such concern that they tore at her heart, as Ron's hate-filled eyes had moments before. Unable to speak, she shook her head again. The flow of tears had temporarily abated: they were now just pooling in her eyes.

He looked at her torn clothing and placed a hand on her bare shoulder. "Who did this to you?" he asked, then took off his robe and gently wrapped it around her. Hermione shook her head again. Looking down, she saw the pale green fabric clutched in her hand. She must have summoned it before being apparated.

"I—," she choked on her words, but Draco watched her patiently, holding her shoulders gently. "Ron saw—." She couldn't finish the sentence. "Drake, please," she said, before she started sobbing. Draco pulled her towards him. She reveled in his embrace, crying a salty river down his bare chest.

He held her head to him with one hand, and rubbed her back with the other, all the while whispering calmly into her ear. Suddenly phrases like, "It's over," and, "You're safe now," were no longer cliché, but the only anchors to which her frantically swirling mind could grasp.

Her sobs subsided into cries, her cries subsided into whimpers, and her whimpers subsided into silence. Only then did Draco say softly, "Come with me." He surprised her by picking her up bridal style and sitting on his bed, where he continued to cradle her, her head resting on his shoulder. She tucked up her legs and put her arms around him. She felt at peace for the first time in ages. She didn't want this moment to end.

"I'm sorry I'm imposing."

"Oh don't be stupid," he whispered softly into her ear.

"I'm not stupid, _ferret_," she chided back.

"_Chromosomal aberration_." She actually smiled into his shoulder and tightened her grip on him. She moved her face to rest in the crook of his neck, where her lips would naturally rest against his skin: covertly kissing his neck without kissing his neck.

A feeling of contentment washed over her, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

Harry woke to a soft tapping on the small square window in the room's door. He checked his watch to see it was one o'clock in the morning. Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

He got up to open the door, its extra mass and unfamiliar inertia making it croak along slowly. "Ginny!" He whispered, stepping into the hallway to give the tiny redhead a hug. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Mum's been crazy about me leaving the house. She's convinced Death Eaters are out to maim and kill us all," Ginny laughed.

"Well it's good to see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, just missing you. How are _you_, Harry?"

"Oh I believe the phrase is, 'as good as can be expected,' whatever the hell that means." Ginny nodded sympathetically and rubbed his arm which she had not let go of.

They stood in silence until Ginny could bare it no longer. "Look I know this is probably a bad time, but I thought, since Voldemort can't use me to get to you anymore, maybe you would be interested in getting back together?" Her whimsical, pale face reflected up at him earnestly.

"Uh, I um." Truthfully, he hadn't thought about it. Now that he did, he supposed that would be the natural course of action to take. But, "I'm going to need to be with Professor Snape for awhile, possibly quite some time. I can't really put anything into a relationship until he's better. It wouldn't be fair to you for it to be so one-sided."

"I understand," she said smiling, but inside her heart was sinking to somewhere around the region of her left foot. "How is he?"

"Oh, ya know, still the same. I'm sure Hermione's told you."

Ginny nodded. "I hope she's okay. She and Ron had a nasty fight."

Harry frowned. He would probably be getting earfuls from both parties tomorrow. "Well they can both be… stubborn." They laughed simultaneously.

"Indeed. I had better get back before mum notices I'm gone."

"Eek. I hope you left a note."

"Yeah seriously."

Harry hugged her, and kissed her cheek. Ginny smiled a small sad smile before turning and walking away.

* * *

When Hermione woke the room was still pitch black. She wondered how long she had slept. She was tucked under a mountain of blankets and still wearing the robe Draco had put on her.

She slowly slid out of the buttery soft cotton sheets, and went over to a window. Pushing the curtain aside, she was instantly blinded by the rays of light that streamed in. She quickly set it right, blinking her eyes in an attempt to regain her vision.

Hermione slowly turned the handle on a door she thought might lead to a bathroom. The echoing sound and cold tile that met her footsteps indicated she was correct. She pulled out her wand and silently lit the tip. Good thing, as she desperately needed to pee.

Once she was finished, she tried the door she thought might be the exit. She peered outside, expecting to see a hallway. Instead there was another slightly less pitchy room. There was a round table in one corner, a few bookcases, a large couch, and other assorted furniture. Looking closer at the couch, she realized there was a certain dragon with white blonde hair sleeping on it.

Hermione tiptoed back into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. She crawled back into bed and drew the covers to her nose.

She lay still, luxuriating in the solitude and safety, for only a few minutes before Draco came wandering in. He was wearing the fluffiest robe she had ever seen. What was more shocking was his hair was actually disheveled, and he had on—were those pink bunny slippers?

"Hermione? You awake?" He whispered, sitting down on the bed as she was sitting up.

"Uh huh." Her attention was rapidly drawn to his feet.

"Er… they were a gift," he tucked his foot under his leg.

"I see. Were you cold?" She asked, tugging on his sleeve.

"No, but my more seasonally-appropriate garment is currently occupied."

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry. It's not your fault."

"Sorry. For saying sorry too much that is." She wished there was something hard nearby she could bang her head against.

"Wikket said she brought your things. I'm afraid all she found were some clothes and a purse." Draco sounded disappointed in himself, like he had somehow failed her.

"No that's about it."

"Do you have no other possessions?" he asked, unaware how insensitive that sounded.

"I do. It's a very special purse. I'll show you later, I promise." She smiled.

"Well I've learned better than to argue with you."

"You're a quick study."

"I try. Would you like to get ready first?" Draco asked.

"Oh! No you go ahead." Hermione realized she was occupying the man's bed and preventing him from using his own bathroom.

"I won't be long. Your things are in the next room," he said, pointing to the room where he had slept.

"Thank you," Hermione said, "for everything."

"You would have done the same," Draco said simply, going into the bathroom and closing the door.

The small amount of light coming from the other room led her out of the bedroom, and she opened the curtains a fraction. She saw her beaded purse was indeed sitting on the circular table. She quickly searched in it for her notebook, and sighed with relief when she found it.

In the corner was a wardrobe she had not noticed before. Sure enough, it contained the few clothes she had unpacked into Ginny's closet, along with several dresses she didn't recognize. _Was Draco cross dressing these days?_

She grabbed a change of clothes, pulling off her skirt and ruined blouse under the robe.

Peering into the bedroom, she saw Draco leave the bathroom in a puff of steam. He was already dressed, groomed, and smiling. She could swear she saw his teeth sparkle and heard a bell ring somewhere.

"Milady." He bowed her into the room, exiting the bedroom after she entered. "I'll be out here. Take your time." He shut the bedroom door.

Hermione quickly showered and dressed, a habit well ingrained after a year of living on the move. She entered the small sitting room to see Draco at the circular table. He was reading _The Daily Prophet_ and sipping at some tea. A whole array of breakfast items were set out.

He looked over his paper upon seeing her. "I hope you're hungry. We haven't had guests in awhile, so the elves went a little overboard," he said apologetically, indicating all of the food on the table.

"It's lovely," she said, taking the seat next to Draco.

Hermione grabbed a blueberry scone and some breakfast tea.

"_Prophet?_" Draco inquired.

"Please." She perused the paper when Draco had produced a second copy, hoping not to find any news of Death Eater sightings. Luckily there seemed to be none.

Draco let her finish her breakfast, and tea, and once she set down her paper he followed suit. His face was serious and concerned when Hermione looked at him. "Please tell me what happened last night."

Hermione's heart started racing again. She had to remind herself she was safe here. It didn't make saying the words any easier. "Ron saw the handkerchief you gave me. It had your initials on it, and I had tucked it into my blouse. He just reacted badly."

Draco let her collect her thoughts for a moment before prompting her. "Go on."

"He wouldn't even let me explain. He got furious. He called me a 'two-bit whore.'"

Draco's voice became dangerously low. "Did he hit you?"

"No. Just tore my blouse. That was my fault really I just pulled away too fast and—"

"Stop. Just stop. You know that was not your fault."

Hermione could not look at him nor feel anything but intensely miserable at the moment. Draco sat back in his chair, his right thumb absentmindedly rubbing at the tablecloth. They sat like that for a few minutes. Hermione was proud of herself; she had managed not to break down in tears for once. Draco was obviously hesitant to touch her, but his silent presence was calming.

Finally he held his hand out to her, palm up. She looked at his face questioningly. "Come, my lady. There's work to be done."

He helped her out of her chair. She resisted the urge to tidy up the table. Draco led her through his maze of a mansion at an amble. He was probably the last ambler on Earth.

He pointed out a few places as they went. Hermione was surprised to see the estate had a drawing room _and_ a withdrawing chamber. She had always thought they were the same thing, but he explained that one was for the lady of the house and the other for the lord. She tried to get her bearings, but soon gave up.

"Your mother is certainly making herself scarce."

"Well she is gone quite a bit." Draco sounded hesitant, and then looked guilty.

"Let me guess, she doesn't want a filthy mudblood in her house." Hermione entirely failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"It's not as bad as all that. Old prejudices just die hard," he tried to explain. They had reached the library, and were settling into their familiar seats. The books were still lined up and, like a line of cadets, waiting for inspection.

Hermione looked doubtful.

"Try to imagine being told all your life that muggles would kill you in your sleep if you didn't eat all your vegetables."

"That's horrible."

"And it's not just all social conditioning. Look at the laws. We can go to prison for performing magic in front of muggles, but it's okay to marry them?"

"Those laws are meant to protect the population as a whole. They don't tell you who you can and cannot fall in love with. 'A person is smart.'" She quoted, much to his delight, "'People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals.' And what about those with no magical history in their lineage that end up a wizard through an accident of genetics? That is no one's fault. Are they supposed to suffer?"

"Well actually I didn't know about that until you brought it up. You may be shocked to know that not everyone is as smart as you." He was smiling as he spoke, so she delighted at the compliment.

"Well then it may interest you to know I have evidence to believe that the likelihood of that particular abnormality has changed significantly over time." Hermione spoke as if letting someone in on a very important secret. It was completely lost on Draco.

"Eh?"

"Genetic conditions have almost all held the same frequency over time. There are more cases of, say, Down Syndrome, because there are more people, but the percentage affected is the same. In the case of my 'condition,'" she said with air quotes, "the frequency changes. I've noticed a pattern as well. It seems to be freakishly high about twenty years before a war. I'm still working on a statistical analysis, but from what I've seen it is extremely unlikely this is due to random chance alone."

"Hmm. And that means?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe the gods are making more witches and wizards when they know they will be needed."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Or maybe when too many wizards come, we get war."

Hermione nodded, impressed Draco was able to come to that conclusion so quickly. "That's obviously also a possibility. Anyway, I'm still crunching numbers on that. Shall we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Certainly. Where would you like to start today?"

"Actually I would really like to figure out why the practice was deemed a 'Dark Art'" She said.

Draco grabbed the eighth book they had set off to the side. It was a massive tome on Wizengamot decisions and Common Law in the early sixteenth century. Hermione was startled to see another small book had been hiding under it. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a copy of _The Tales of Beedle The Bard_.

"Did Wikket bring this?" Hermione asked, a bit confused.

"She must have."

The witch ran her hand over the cover. _Another mystery to solve, and once again this book appears._ She flipped through the pages, trying to remember all the stories she had read. "Of course!" She cried aloud upon spotting a particular tale, and Draco looked up from his reading.

"Castor and Pollux! The patrons of sailors!" She sat down, practically vibrating with excitement over solving another clue. "They were twins, but Castor was mortal. When he died, his brother shared his immortality. They went on all sorts of adventures at sea, with Pollux shepherding his brother's soul until Castor grew tired. Then Pollux transformed them into the constellation Gemini where they could watch over the seas forever."

"Okay. But, that's just a children's tale. Isn't it?" Draco's voice was laced with doubt.

"At this point…" Hermione trailed off. "Look, I believe immortality goes against the laws of nature; quite frankly, against the laws of physics. But there could be some truth behind that tale." Hermione flipped through the pages. "There are seventeen adventures and seventeen days before Castor became 'tired.' If that's true, it may give us an upper limit on how long we have to set Professor Snape right."

Draco was considering this carefully. "For such a logical person, why do you put so much stock in fairy tales?"

"Most stories have _some_ basis in reality. Probably a quarter of everything I write is inspired in some part by real life. It's just used in entirely different ways."

"Oh? You're a writer?"

Hermione blushed. "It's been known to happen." She collected her thoughts a moment before turning to look at Draco. He had completely abandoned his law book and was focusing on her. "And, um, you remember mentioning the tale of the Deathly Hallows?"

Draco arched his right eyebrow.

"It's true: at least to the extent that they exist."

Draco arched his left eyebrow.

"Dumbledore and Harry used them to defeat Voldemort."

"How?"

"Well in short, Voldemort was made to believe he was the true wielder of the Elder Wand, when in reality it was Harry. So, when he tried to use it against Harry it backfired—literally. Fascinating tale, but it will have to wait. Did you find anything?"

Draco snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, let me see. _Reperio _'Soul Reap.'" Draco said, pointing his wand at the book. It lay motionless. "_Reperio_ 'Soul Housing.'" Again nothing.

"Try 'Soul Shepherding,'" she suggested, "like in the fable."

"_Reperio _'Soul Shepherding.'"

The ancient pages crackled forward, blowing up a slight gust that tickled Hermione's nose. She got as close as she could to Draco without quite touching him, enjoying the resulting pocket of air that was warmed by their synergy.

They read along in companionable silence. Hermione discovered she was a slightly slower reader, most likely because she was committing more detail to memory, so she was the one to turn the pages, reaching across him to do so.

There had been three legal cases that made it to a high enough court to be included in the book. The first was a case where a witch's healer had saved her life by housing her soul briefly until a poison could be flushed out of her system. Being that she was dying and unconscious, the healer could not obtain her prior consent. The judges concluded that the witch had in fact been suicidal at the time, probably taking the poison herself, and the majority opinion upheld the current law which did not require obtaining prior consent for life saving medical procedures if it was impossible to do so and no next of kin were reachable.

The second case was also about prior consent. In this case, the healer housed her patient's soul for two days while, after a freak accident with a cotton ball, he had to re-grow nearly every bone in his body. The patient was unhappy at being stuck in a, "mental prison," in his own words for that long. The ruling was once again in favor of the healer's judgment.

The third case was the most interesting. A healer and his patient together were suing the medical community as a whole and trying to outlaw the practice completely. It seemed the healer had fallen quite ill while caring for his patient, and was unable to return her soul for ten days. As a result, residual bits of it were left behind. He would have stray thoughts he knew were not his, developed unconscious habits that belonged to her, and vice-versa. This final case spelled the end of the practice in the legal world.

"That's not good," Hermione said. "Snape's been out eight days now."

Draco mirrored Hermione's concern. "So much for seventeen days being the upper limit, even if that story is true."

"Well, between stray thoughts and death, I think Harry would pick the former. Still, we should hurry." Hermione assigned Draco to look through the three books on the Dark Arts, trying to find how soul reaping was performed, and how it was undone. She took the first four.

At lunchtime, two plates of piping hot shepherd's pie appeared on the table, along with a simple salad. "Good heavens, my mum's cooked," Draco said. Those were words she never thought she'd hear from the blonde's mouth. Apparently her face indicated her shock. "It happens. Mum's shepherd's pie is my favorite."

Hermione looked at her plate doubtfully. "Are you sure it's not poisoned?"

Draco gave her an "aren't you adorable" look, and switched plates with her. Satisfied, she dug in while still reading and taking notes. Draco tried to do the same, but eventually ended up finishing his meal before continuing.

Several hours later, Hermione was going over her notes when Draco said, "I think that's all I'll get out of these books." They switched notes.

It seemed the Dark Arts community had gone back to calling the practice Soul Reaping, whereas the medical community moved to more and more user-friendly terms over time.

There were several methods of ripping out someone's soul, probably as a result of the ritual changing over time, but always ended with the incantation "_Animus Illicio._" There was another pattern she had identified: it seemed each ritual of taking was paired with the same ritual of restoring, which meant they had to find exactly how Harry had done it before they could undo it.

"That's about what I found out too," Draco said, after she voiced her conclusions. "Also it seems, even once it was a Dark Art, the practice still required the person to be very close to death, and the person performing the soul extraction to have good intentions. That is, as an understatement, a relief."

Hermione nodded vigorously. She hadn't thought about that. "Now all we need to do is figure out how Harry did it."

"I don't understand how he could have. All we heard him say was the final incantation," Draco said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"That's where your Dark Mark comes in, I think."

Draco tensed visibly. "How so?"

"Did Voldemort ever say anything about it? What it was for?"

"You mean besides summoning us? Not really, no."

"Do you remember him putting it on you?"

Draco searched his memories. "No. Absolutely nothing. He must have obliviated me! I never realized."

Though this was news to Hermione, she was not surprised.

"I know it must have some sort of self-healing properties. It cannot be destroyed." Draco's face twisted and he was looking far away.

"Don't be silly, anything can be destroyed."

"No, really, look." Draco stood up, pulling a tiny dagger out of his right boot.

All Hermione could do was watch in horror as Draco plunged it into his left arm at the Serpent's tail, blood immediately spurting out, and pulled it all the way up to the top of the skull. In between the crimson gushes she saw fatty white beads, and but only for a moment as cut started to heal itself from the inside out. Within half a minute there was not even a line on his arm.

She got up, shivering like a recently plucked cello string. "DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" she screamed, and slapped him smartly across the face. He dropped the dagger, which landed with a thud on the floor. Hermione lunged towards him, standing on her tiptoes, and crushed his head to her chest, desperate to feel him warm and alive.

"Okay." He said, his voice muffled as he began to struggle for air.

Once her breathing calmed, she released him from her iron grip.

"Sorry?" He said with wide eyes. She resisted the urge to smack him again.

"_Sorry?!" _She tried to emphasize the concern she felt rather than the anger.

"I guess I'm used to friends that find that kind of stuff amusing?" It was stated as a question.

"And it never set off alarm bells that your friends thought self mutilation was amusing?" He shrugged silently, guilt stretching his pale features into an undignified frown . "Do you do that often?"

"Just a few times."

"Anywhere else?"

The question surprised Draco so much that he didn't immediately answer in the negative. This was all the answer Hermione needed.

"_Show me,"_ she said, once again coercing him with her 'special' voice.

For just a moment, he looked like he might resist, but then his trembling hand reached down to his midriff to undo his belt.

_Ohmygod. _Hermione thought to herself in a panic.

He undid the button and pulled down his zipper, pushing down his pants to pool on the floor. He looked away from her.

Hermione floundered for only a moment before stubbornly telling herself to get past her embarrassment. She was the one that made him do it after all, and he obviously needed help. Sinking lower to the ground, her eyes immediately were drawn to one particular spot.

There were parallel red lines on both of his inner thighs, sharply accentuated by his pale skin. Some were fainter than others, and some were deep and frightening. All of her previous anger was immediately torn away, grounding itself in the Earth like an electrical current.

She touched his still closing wounds, muttering the few healing spells she knew, slowly drawing her hands along his cooling skin. He had been observing her ministrations, so when she looked up she could see the pain and sadness in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he feigned indifference.

"I'm sorry." She said, dressing him with one swish of her wand.

"You did what you felt was necessary I guess."

"No. 'I'm sorry' is what I say to people I care about to indicate I wish I could bare their pain for them." She stood facing him now.

"Ugh, Gryffindors," he said in mock exasperation.

Hermione half smiled. "Zip it, ferret."

"Sequencing error."

She laughed, surprised he had actually been following her earlier rant. His veiled gray eyes were giving her an intense look as they sat back down to work.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I did not make up the story of Castor and Pollux. It is a tale from Greek and Roman mythology, and they are indeed two stars in the Gemini constellation. It is also, apparently, a dog food brand.


	5. Detour Down Knockturn Alley

Chapter 5 — Detour Down Knockturn Alley

* * *

Harry woke after another fitful night. Sleep was hard to come by: quality sleep even more so. The faint lights and perpetual hum of the hospital had become the oddly comforting companions of his sentinel's watch.

"Good morning, Professor." Harry knew his slumbering charge probably could not hear him, but he talked to him anyway. He had started to confess all of the mischievous things him and his friends had done over the years, hoping that pure rage might fuel the older man to claw his way from the depths of slumber.

When he had mentioned how Hermione had stolen all of the supplies to make Polyjuice Potion in their second year, he thought he had seen something—a twitch or flicker, but, then…. no. It must have been a trick of the light.

Harry's benign morning fog was violently hacked to bits by Ron who arrived promptly at eleven thirty to rant about the night before.

"She's mental Hermione is," Ron began, combing his hand through his hair. "She shows up in my bedroom at nearly midnight _wearing his clothes_ and expects me not to ask questions?"

"She was wearing his clothes?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well sort of. Okay not at all, but she may as well have been." Ron proceeded to rehash every bad thing Malfoy had ever done to anyone over their time at school, while extolling all of his own kind, chivalrous, and heroic actions. Harry wanted to hand him a skull and soft shoe out the door.

"He almost got Buckbeak killed."

_To be fair, that was mostly his father._

"He got everyone in the DA in trouble. Bloody hell, he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He's lucky they didn't kill anyone. He cursed Katie Bell, and poised me with that bloody mead."

As Ron continued, the seriousness of the grievances waned while his friend's voice crescendoed. Professor Snape hadn't woken during the rant, so surely it was a lost cause. Harry began writing his eulogy. _Here lies the great hero Severus Snape who, in the end, was bored to death by Ronald Weasley. And now here also lies Harry Potter who just off-ed himself and jumped in the coffin with him._

When Ron paused for breath Harry seized the opportunity. "You're absolutely right," he said, knowing the best way to calm his friend down was to first agree with him. "And what did Hermione have to say?"

Ron turned away from the wall he had been trying to bore a hole in with his eyes to look at Harry. "Nothing! She said nothing! Just stood there!"

Harry nodded, trying to look pensive. "Well did you ask her? Maybe why she was out so late?"

Ron sputtered. "Well that's hardly the point."

Harry glared at him.

"Okay no. I didn't ask her anything, but she didn't give me a chance. She just apparated away!" Ron said.

This was the part that concerned Harry. She seldom avoided confrontation. When lesser mortals were fleeing in terror, there Hermione was, wand in hand and fire in her eyes.

She was so often asked by people why she wasn't in Ravenclaw. Those people hadn't seen her impose herself between him and what they all thought was a murderous lunatic when Sirius lured Pettigrew to the Shrieking Shack. They hadn't watched her jump onto the back of an enraged dragon. They hadn't seen her volunteer to go with him when he marched to his death in the Forbidden Forrest, or offer to stay with Hagrid to support him when Buckbeak was meant to be beheaded.

"Ron, you're not going to get any sense out of her if you're shouting. Maybe you should both just take a day or two. Let things cool off. We've all got enough to worry about."

"I suppose you're right." Ron sat down with a sharp exhalation of breath, and then studying his shoes. "Oy, where's Ginny anyway?"

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, her note said she'd be here. Mum went bat shit crazy of course, but I calmed her down. You owe me one, mate."

Harry's pulse quickened, and his senses heightened immediately. "She was only here for twenty minutes, Ron."

His friend's head shot up. "Then where did she go?"

"She said she was going home after that: worried your mum would catch her gone in fact."

"Well she wasn't there. I didn't hear her come home. She might have gone to Luna's. She does that a lot without telling anyone. 'Attention-seeking behavior,' mum calls it."

"Check with Luna then, and I'll have Kreacher look for Mundungus just in case."

"That rotten thief? What do you want with him?"

"He may be vile but he will work for honest gold, and he's the best skip trace I know. Kreacher!"

Kreacher arrived with a characteristic pop. Harry gave him instructions to _request _Mundungus' _paid_ services and _kindly_ _escort_ him to the hospital.

"Come on then let's go and see Luna," Ron said.

"I have to stay with Professor Snape."

"This is my sister, mate! I think Snape will be okay alone for twenty minutes."

"Honestly I don't think he will. And I need to wait here in case Dung comes anyway."

Ron huffed, and puffed, and disapparated. Harry relaxed.

"Sorry about that. My friend's a little woo-hoo," he said, pitching his voice high and twirling his index finger around his right ear to exemplify what "woo-hoo" meant.

A few minutes later, there was a tapping on the outside window. Ron had sent Pigwidgeon with a note to indicate he had not found Ginny at Luna's, and that they were going to check with other friends. He also requested that Harry send Pig on to Hermione with a note explaining the situation. At least Ron was sensible enough for that.

Harry scribbled a note to Hermione, also asking if she was okay given last night. He tied the note to Pig's foot and launched him into the air when there was another tapping on glass.

Harry turned toward the interior door but didn't see anyone. When he opened it, he was greeted with an enthusiastic, "Mr. Potter! So good to see you again!" Of course Dung would be too short to see through the window. "Mundungus Fletcher at your service." The shorter man bowed deeply.

Dung kept trying to covertly peer around him to get a look at Snape, so Harry stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

"I'm looking for someone that's gone missing," Harry said seriously, determined to keep his tone professional.

"Well it's a rare day indeed we go looking for someone that's gone found," Dung drawled. Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright I'll just need a few particulars."

Mundungus pulled out a small notebook and licked his thumb before flipping through it.

"Name?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Age?"

"16"

"Brief physical description." He accentuated each highly accented word with excessive movement of his lips.

"Well, her hair is—."

"—Red. I'd guessed that part—"

"—and long. She has brown eyes. She's about my height."

"When was she last seen?"

"About half past one this morning: she came to visit me here."

"And what was she wearing."

"Erm, clothes."

"Right. Since she's a minor I'm guessing she used the floo network." Harry nodded. "I'll go and talk to the desk staff and take it from there."

"Thank you."

Dung started to turn, but hesitated. "You know, since she's a minor she'll still have the trace on her. You could just involve the Ministry."

"I'd rather eat flaming tarantula poo."

"Well at least we agree on one thing, Mr. Potter," Mundungus cooed, reaching out to shake Harry's hand heartily before retreating.

* * *

"I know what you're going to say; the same thing my mum did." Draco was far more relaxed now that they were seated and he was fully clothed.

"She knows about this!?"

Draco didn't reply.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you to stop. Unless you cut too deep, or something gets infected, it's not going to kill you. Of course I don't want you to, because I care about you. But that would just be treating the symptoms." Hermione tried to keep her emotions in check. He didn't need coddling; he needed help.

"What should be addressed is _why_ you do this. Do you know why you do this?" Draco flinched. A moment later his head nodded jerkily. "Will you tell me?"

"I can't," he whispered, finally meeting her eyes.

"Will you tell someone?" He had tears in his eyes. "Surely there must be someone?"

Draco just shrugged. "Why did you live your life so alone, Drake?" She implored.

"Just the way I was raised. Don't trust, don't tell, and don't get hurt."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Not so much."

Hermione sighed. "Alright, I've badgered you enough for one day. Let's get back to work." She got out her wand and pointed to an arbitrary point above the desk in front of them. "_Expono Prior Pulsatio," _she stated, and different colors of light started streaming out of her wand.

Draco watched with wonder as the lights coalesced into a topographical map which, when viewed from above, was exactly like the Dark Mark. "That's amazing!" he said. Her heart swelled with pride. "What is it?"

"Basically, a map of the set spells in your Dark Mark."

"You mentioned set spells before. I'm not familiar with the term."

"From what I can tell, Voldemort was the first to experiment with them in earnest. That is part of what made him so exceptional. He was extremely innovative: not afraid to think outside the box, if you will."

"So like you?" Draco mused, holding up his hands in surrender at her glare.

"Exactly," She eventually returned with a menacing stare. "Now, we see magic in objects every day: everything from a jumping Chocolate Frog to the Goblet of Fire. These are all self-contained devices. What makes this special," she indicated the map of the Dark Mark in front of her, "is that he was storing spells which he could use later."

Draco considered this for a moment, glancing subconsciously at his left arm. "What kind of spells?"

"That's what I have to analyze to be sure. He probably stored spells he knew he would use often or spells that required a lot of magic. This way, he could perform many powerful spells without draining his magical core even minutely. Basically he hijacked your magical power—and that of all of the Death Eaters.

"So you see it was in his best interest to keep the Mark in good condition: hence its self healing." Hermione reached out to the hovering map, expanding it by pulling her hands apart and rotating it with her right hand. "You see here," she pointed to a green ring near the bottom, "and here," she said, pointing to another near the top. "Healing spells. There are many others, but those are the two most powerful."

"That's amazing."

"Voldy says 'thanks.'"

"I mean that you figured all this out."

"I say thanks too."

"So you think he stored some sort of spell to perform this soul transference in the Mark, and that Harry was able to use it somehow?"

"Yes. Now I just have to figure out which one it is." She indicated the slowly spinning mass of colors in front of her. "This is even more complicated than I thought, though. All of the spells are interconnected; it's like they're… tangled. Probably specifically to slow someone down that was trying to unravel them."

"I take it you didn't invent a topographical hairbrush then?"

"I wish."

"Would it be faster perhaps to narrow it down to the methods he could have known about? He was an orphan, right? So he obviously didn't have an extensive library. He must have done his research at Hogwarts."

"Maybe at first, but Drake your father was a Death Eater. Do you know for sure Voldemort wasn't here all the time? It was before you were born. The Dark Mark could have evolved as he grew stronger. For all we know, he could have sat right where we sit now and gone through these exact same books."

They both grew silent, staring at the books and furniture around them. Hermione resisted the urge to scourgify everything in sight. "That's an unsettling thought," he voiced for both of them, then got up to answer an owl's tapping on the window.

Hermione was filled with dread when she saw the owl was Pigwidgeon. "It's for you," Draco said, bringing her a folded note while gently smoothing the owl's flight-worn feathers. Her dread was partially replaced with confusion as she realized the note was from Harry.

Draco watched as her face grew alarmed. "Is everything okay?" He asked.

"Ginny's gone missing," she said, consulting the note, "at 1:30 this morning." _And I was so short with her last night. I didn't even hug her before I left. She must think I hate her! What if she's dead!? _"We have to go and find her!"

"Do you know where to start looking?"

Harry's note said they had already checked with Luna. Aside from that she had no idea where her friend could be. "No. We'll have to go see if Harry has any news. Er—will you come with me?"

Draco's smile was reassuring. He held out his hand, and apparated them to St. Mungo's the moment she took it.

* * *

Harry sat in his usual chair wringing his hands. He wished he could be doing something to help find Ginny, but didn't want to leave Snape's side.

He was relieved when Hermione arrived, even if Malfoy was in tow. "Have you any more news?" she asked, getting straight down to business.

"No. I've sent Mundungus to look for her. How about you?"

Hermione realized he was talking about her research. "No but we're getting close. I just need more time."

The stress of the last year had aged his friend. Now when he looked at her eyes, he saw the heartache of a thousand lifetimes. He would do anything to take that away from her.

"Harry if you think I should go back to research—"

"No we're fine. We've waited this long. Ginny is missing _now_. Besides I just have the feeling that as long as I am close to him we'll be okay for now."

Hermione nodded, exchanging a look with Malfoy. Harry didn't know how to feel about their growing camaraderie. She had said she trusted the aristocratic brat. But there was more than one arena of trust, and she tended to be careless with her heart.

Ron and Luna arrived at that moment, crowding the room once again. "Luna!" He gave the witch a crushing hug, picking her up off her feet. "I've missed you!"

"Oh aren't you sweet," Luna said in her wholesome, airy voice. "I've missed you too, Harry Potter."

"What's he doing here?" Ron immediately grew agitated upon spotting Malfoy.

"I asked for his help," Hermione said simply, staring down Ron defiantly. Luna looked dreamily around the room, blissfully unaware of the growing tension.

"Over my dead body; this is _my _sister."

"And _my_ friend. You asked for my help. Do you want it or not?"

Harry noticed Luna drift over to his customary seat, taking Snape's hand in her own and smiling down kindly at him.

Ron's gaze darted between Hermione and Malfoy. "I need to talk to you _in private._" He glowered, placing a hand on her arm to usher her outside. She shrugged his arm off of her, and Ron tried to grab her hand instead. This was all the provocation Malfoy needed to launch himself from his secluded corner and punch Ron in the face.

"Don't you ever touch her again," Malfoy yelled.

Ron picked himself up off the floor with amazing agility, and the two were brawling in earnest by the time Harry could interject himself between them.

"Both of you stop it!" Hermione cried.

In between flying fists, Harry caught glimpses of the blonde witch still sitting with their Professor. Luna was talking quietly to Snape now, completely oblivious to the fight occurring mere feet from her.

Harry finally pulled Ron off Malfoy, and Hermione effectively latched herself onto Malfoy's arm. If he wanted to keep fighting he would have to drag her along.

The door to the hospital room cracked open, and Healer Andrell stuck his red-gold locks in. "Oh my, is that displays of manliness I hear?" he said cheerfully. "I hope all is copacetic. I wouldn't want to have to throw anyone out!"

"Yes, sir," they said, looking for all the world like scolded school children.

Harry waited for Andrell to shut the door before speaking. "I need everyone to focus. We're all here to help Ginny, right?" Hermione nodded, reluctantly followed by Ron and Malfoy. Even Luna, who was still talking very quietly to the stubbornly comatose Professor, nodded while continuing her steady monologue.

"So what do we know so far?" Harry asked, trying to pull his head back together. "Ron, where did you and Luna look?"

Ron, who had still been in a staring match with Malfoy, looked at Harry now. "Just the usual haunts in Hogsmeade. No one had seen her, and she didn't overnight at any of the inns."

"And is there anywhere else she would have gone?" Harry asked. He did not like the alternative one bit, but no one could think of anything. "Then we'll have to wait and see if Dung had any luck."

"Yeah and what then?" Ron asked. "A few barely legal wizards versus a pack of hungry Death Eaters again. How is it your plans always end up that way?"

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ron." _His sister is missing; that's the only reason he's acting this way_, Harry had to remind himself.

"Sure would be nice if we had the _Elder Wand _right about now, but, no, you had to go and get rid of it!"

"Get rid of it?" Malfoy asked quietly, speaking for only the second time since his and Hermione's arrival. They all looked at him.

"I destroyed it," Harry said.

"How?"

"He snapped it in half and chucked it off a bridge," Ron croaked miserably.

"What? Are you insane? What if someone tried to put it back together?"

Harry remembered Ron's spellotaped wand in second year. _Well at least it wouldn't work properly._

"What if it's self-healing?"

_Oh. _"I didn't think of that." Harry admitted.

"You should try to find it. Destroy it then if you want to, but do it properly," Malfoy said.

Harry smiled sheepishly. He went to the window and opened it. Luna halted her one-sided conversation long enough to look at what he was doing with interest. "_Accio Elder Wand,"_ Harry called out, brandishing Malfoy's-turned-his wand into the warm spring air.

They all waited in stilled silence for a minute, peering out the window. Nothing happened. "See? I told you it was destroy—" Harry's sentence was cut off by a hard object colliding against his nose with a crack.

Once he was no longer seeing stars, he looked around. Sure enough the Elder Wand, all in one piece, was lying innocently at his feet. Harry let out a full body sigh and picked it up. Luna went back to her ministrations.

A curt rap at the door let Harry know Mundungus had arrived. Harry went to step outside with Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy in tow. The stodgy dodgy man was posing and preening like a spring chicken, so Harry knew he must have found something.

"What have you got for us, Dung?" Harry growled impatiently.

"Here now no need for that tone. Not when old Mundungus has been risking his neck for your lit'l girlfriend." The last three words were accentuated by wagging a finger at Harry.

He prevented Ron from lunging at Dung.

"I found her," Mundungus said, and even Ron grew still. "She's got herself mixed up with a bad lot 'round Knockturn Alley. Seems she's helping them procure some particulars only a respe'able witch such as herself could get without gettin' asked too many questions."

"What sort of 'particulars'?"

"Potions stuff: all kinds of equipment and ingredients from shops all over. Last I saw her ducking into a place called Borgin and Burke's," Mundungus paused for effect. "You 'eard of it?"

Malfoy was the one to answer. "Yeah. We've 'eard of it."

The group was silent. "Well!" Dung said, clapping his hands. "If that's about all, I'll be going then." He paused, and as if a bothersome thought had just occurred to him. "Oh there's just the small matter of payment. Let me see here, one hour of my prestigious services, meals, tip, tax, and toll. That comes to," he pretended to think very hard. "Thirteen Galleons."

Harry could hear Ron gulp as he forked over the money. "Thanks Dung," Harry said.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Potter, always a pleasure." The man turned and strolled off down the hall.

"Thirteen galleons?!" Ron choked. "Are you barking?"

"I said he was good; I never said he was cheap."

Ron just looked defeated. Harry doubted he had had two galleons to rub together in his life, let alone thirteen.

"So, off to Knockturn Alley we go," Hermione sounded determined. Ron nodded his agreement.

"Wait!" Malfoy interjected. Ron's upper lip curled in a snarl. "I know that place like the back of my hand. Just hear me out." Much to Harry's surprise, Malfoy had turned pleading eyes at Ron.

"And who studies the back of their hand day in and day out?" Hermione asked innocently. The three boys looked around nervously.

"Look, Borgin and Burke, the shop's proprietors, are both in Azkaban. That means their sons are running the shop. From what I heard, it sounds like they are brewing mood altering potions."

"What like cheering potions?" Ron asked.

Harry had to resist the urge to cover his face with his palm.

"Sort of, but they would be much stronger and highly illegal. They may even be producing them in bulk to sell."

"They're _drug dealers_?" Hermione's voice screeched with alarm.

"Er, yeah I think that would be the term familiar to… some people. Anyway, the ingredients they need are highly regulated by the MRC—Magical Reagents Commission. It would explain why Ginny is going all over finding them."

Ron was indignant. "If she's doing that she's being coerced! They must have threatened to kill her or hurt the family or something!"

Malfoy glared at him. "They probably just put her under the imperious curse, Weasley."

"Oh, right."

"We do know she's particularly prone to mind control," Hermione reminded them, "after Tom Riddle's diary."

"So," Harry began, "Burst in, bust up illicit drug ring, save damsel in distress. Can do." Harry had already turned to head down the hall, but was stopped again when Malfoy put his hand on his shoulder.

"Wait! Yes you probably can do it, but it's extremely dangerous. If they think they're going to Azkaban, I assure you Gregor and Piers will be as dangerous as cornered animals. Our main goal isn't to break up their illegal operation, it's so save Ginny, so let's focus on that. It gives us the best chance of getting her out safely. The good news is they will need a continuous supply of this stuff so they have reason to keep her alive. That buys us some time."

"You're assuming being killed is the worst thing that can happen to someone," Hermione said quietly.

Malfoy looked for a moment as if he might go to her but then halted. "I know them from school, Hermione. They're not the type to delight in torture."

Hermione nodded once and grew silent.

"We don't need much time, just a bit of organization. First of all, the premises is warded so that the front of the shop is the only part that can be accessed by non-purebloods. That's probably why she was the one they took. I'm afraid that leaves you out Harry, and Hermione."

Luna stood up then, her face bright with excitation. "I'll go!"

Harry shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm not sure you'll fit in," Malfoy said sadly. "Which leaves…" He trailed off, as he and Ron looked at each other.

"Great." Ron said under his breath.

"For Ginny." Harry said.

"For Ginny." Ron agreed.

"The safest course of action will be to pretend to want to buy from them. I'll hold their attention while you go and look for your sister. From the back hallway, there are stairs immediately to the left. Third door on the right is a small room the keepers would sometimes sleep in if they were waiting for a late night delivery. That's where she most likely is being held. Once you have her, get out any way you can. Any questions?"

Ron shook his head.

"Here, Ron, this will help." Hermione produced Harry's invisibility cloak from her purse and handed it over to him.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything. He then glanced over at Luna, who was trying to catch something invisible floating in the air. "On second thought, Luna, come with me." Malfoy had evidently decided she was quirky enough to fit in, and she squealed with delight.

The three moved to go. Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to do it, but before Malfoy left, he slipped the Elder Wand into his hand. The Slytherin said nothing, but gave him an inquisitive look.

"Just keep her safe." Harry said.

Malfoy nodded.

* * *

"Let's go somewhere in Diagon Alley first, that way we can plan our approach," Draco said once they had reached the floo on the first floor. Both Ron and Luna nodded, Ron slightly more reluctantly. "Twilfitt and Tatting's" Draco said clearly and threw a handful of floo powder before Ron could object.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace gracefully, dusting off his robes. One advantage to using this elitist pure-blood store as a rendezvous was there was hardly ever anyone in it. Draco looked around as Ron and Luna stepped out of the fireplace. "Put on your cloak," he whispered to Ron under his breath.

The red head disappeared under the invisibility cloak. '_Why don't I have one of those?'_ he thought jealously.

"What would you like me to do?" Luna's voice was refreshing like citrus.

"Stay close," he said while reaching out to her, and she took his hand.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy!" An exuberant wizard's voice called from behind them.

Draco turned. "Mr. Tattings."

"Good to see you again, son. How is your mother?"

"She's well thank you."

"Excellent. Oh! And who have we here?" Mr. Tattings pretended to just notice Luna, throwing his hands out with his fingers spread wide.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Draco said. Luna gave a small curtsey, and Mr. Tattings bowed back.

"Pleasure to meet you, my dear. Any friend of Draco's is a friend of mind. What can Twilfitt and Tatting's do for such a fine young couple today?"

"Unfortunately we're on business, just passing through. Didn't want to traipse all the way through Diagon Alley; you know how it is."

This earned Draco a sympathetic look from the shop keeper. "Ah yes, well don't let me keep you! Come back any time though!" Mr. Tattings escorted them out the door.

Ron was hard pressed to make it out before the man shut it behind them. "Blimey. That man nearly took off my leg!"

"Well… he can't see you. Did you think clandestine work would be easy, Weasley?" Draco led them down a maze of passages. He kept his pace quick until they were near Borgin and Burke's. "Pretend that you like me," he whispered to Luna, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Oh that will be easy, Draco. I do like you," Luna said, her permasmile meeting his amazed look.

Draco cleared his mind and raised his mental barriers. He focused instead on his companion and their cover story. He put a half-grin, half-smile on his face.

"You look like a baby that's just blown wind," Ron hissed at him.

"Ah ha ha!" Draco pretended to laugh at something Luna said. Luckily they had reached the shop, so the infuriating redhead had to remain quiet.

A bell chirped as the three of them entered. Draco approached the counter, but was quickly dragged off to the side by Luna. "Oh honey look! They have Dragonmods!" Draco looked where she was pointing.

There was a large bird cage in the corner filled with what looked like miniature dragons. They were moving around and interacting so naturally he realized they could not be bewitched. "What are they?" he asked. They must have been a new addition to the shop since he'd been here last, or he had been so caught up in his own misery that he didn't notice them.

"They are dragons that are modified to only grow to about six inches. Fully grown they're smaller than a baby dragon! Aren't they adorable?"

There were three miniature dragons in total. The smallest was an opaque blue color. Its scales were so small and delicate they looked like fur, and it appeared to be getting picked on by the other two. It kept getting showers of fire from its cage mates, followed by high pitched trilling that sounded eerily like laughter.

"Oh look at the poor little blue one! They are being so mean to him." A sad frown crossed Luna's face. It was the first time he had seen her not smiling. Draco wondered why such creatures were relegated to a store like Borgin and Burke's.

"Since they don't grow into full sized dragons they aren't illegal, but people tend to avoid them because they think they're unnatural." Was she reading his mind?

The shop's young keepers entered the main show room then, one behind the other. "Maybe for our anniversary, darling," he kissed her hand, and her frown turned to a sad smile.

"Draco!" Gregor called, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. _Probably genuinely pleased to see my coin purse._

"Gregor! Piers! Good to see you." Draco easily slipped into the aristocratic airs his father had drilled into him. The gentlemen all gave curt nods to each other. Luna, probably feeling out of her element, adhered herself to her companion's side.

He put his arm around her again, hoping she would follow his lead.

"And you've brought your… sister?" Piers hazarded.

Draco laughed a hearty fake patrician laugh. "Silly Piers, you know I'm an only child. Allow me to introduce Miss Lovegood of Devonshire." Piers made an elaborately complicated bow, and Luna curtsied politely. "How's business these days?"

"Oh you know how it goes. I'm sure it will pick up. Did I notice you were interested in our Dragonmods, Miss Lovegood?"

"Oh yes, they're quite lovely."

Draco quickly steered the conversation away from her, hoping they would think she was merely a trophy he was parading around. For once her pleasantly neutral but inquisitive expression was an advantage; he soon had the full attention of both men.

"…and muggle-borns in most of the top positions in the Ministry!" Piers raged. Draco wanted to yawn but felt compelled to appear interested so they would not go back to interrogating his companion. "It's an outrage! Don't you think so, Miss Lovegood?"

_Darn the luck. _Draco turned to Luna, waiting nervously for her reply.

She had been looking at something in the window display. When she turned towards the two men her face had transformed. Though they were both a full foot taller than her, she somehow managed to look down her nose at them. "All the scouring spells in the world shan't cleanse it of its filth now," she said, looking like she had tasted something bitter. Draco wanted to hug her.

"Well enough chit chat," Gregors said, though his tone was pleasant. Are you buying or selling today?

"Buying."

"Well please have a look around!"

"Actually what I'm after isn't out on the floor."

Gregors and Piers looked at each other. "Oh?" Piers said, smiling widely. Draco decided he liked Piers the best. "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm looking for a safe house."

Piers looked even happier. "And what makes you think we have one?"

"In a world of chaos, we seek shelter from those in control," Draco replied, using the verbal keys that had unlocked numerous back room doors and cemented countless illegal dealings for his father.

"Always knew you were a kindred spirit!" Piers said, slapping Draco on the back. "Right this way."

Piers led them to the back hallway. Draco followed closely, followed by Luna. She left a considerable amount of space between them, into which he could only hope Ron had interjected himself. Gregor brought up the rear.

They passed the stairs, Luna pausing to adjust her robes a moment. For as tall and gangly as Ron was, he was virtually undetectable as he slipped out of the group and went down the stairs.

Luna caught up with him, playfully grabbing his hand. He squeezed hers as they were brought into a small but sparsely decorated room. Its only contents were a tall bench along one wall which had all manner of bubbling, steaming, brewing, and spewing contraptions hooked together.

There was an acrid smell, to which Luna scrunched up her nose. "You need better ventilation," he said, letting go of his companion's hand to analyze their work. He moved along the bench, mapping out each instrument like a spy decoding a message. All of their equipment was new, and they clearly knew what they were doing. "Your parents get all this started, then?"

"Nah," Piers said, "we're expanding the business whilst they're away." Draco saw Gregor smack Piers on the shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

"Well best of luck with your budding business venture in these troubled times," Draco said like he was giving a toast. "On that note, I'll take a tenth."

Luna cleared her throat.

"Make that two."

Gregor relaxed markedly once the exchange had been made and their conversation returned to niceties. Luna looked like she might choke on the smoky air, but he wanted to give Ron as much time as he could.

Eventually their hosts herded them back through the hall and out to the showroom. "Well pleasure doing business with you," Draco said, "as always." He could only hope Ron had Ginny, as communicating was impossible at this point.

He put his hand on Luna's shoulder and turned to escort her out the door. Just a moment before they reached it, the door bell chimed. No one else had gone in or out. Draco turned. Piers had not noticed it, but Gregor's face had hardened, staring them down. "_Petrificus Totalus,"_ he uttered, and Gregor became entirely motionless. Draco had intended to freeze Piers a moment later, but it seemed the Elder Wand had taken care of them both at the same time. _I could get used to this, _he thought.

"What do we do now?" Ron was starting to panic, still hiding under the cloak.

"Do you have Ginny?"

"Yeah."

"Just go. I'll wipe their memories." He heard Ron's awkward footfalls as he struggled out the door with his sister, still hiding under the cloak.

"_Obliviate,_" he said, pointing the wand at Gregor. He repeated the action with Piers, just in case. They would remember everything up until the premature door chime. He then released their bindings and they started to come to. He put his arm around Luna again and they casually walked out the door. "Wait here a second," he said to Luna, and went back inside the shop.

"Er, what was it you were saying, Draco?" Gregor struggled to regain his hold on reality as the Obliviate spell coursed through his nerves.

"I said, 'I'll take the blue one.'"

* * *

Harry was growing antsy. He despised not being able to do anything when someone he cared about was in trouble. It was bad enough he couldn't do anything for Snape.

Hermione had taken to pacing the small hospital room, arms crossed over her chest.

After what felt like hours, there was an apparation crack in the hallway outside. Harry jumped from his seat, and Hermione stood to face the door. He melted with relief when he saw Ron bring Ginny in. They both looked uninjured. Ginny smiled vaguely, looking at nothing in particular while being moved along by Ron. He sat her down on a chair.

"The curse is still holding," Hermione said.

"I tried to counteract it, but it was too strong."

"Let me try." Hermione positioned herself in front of Ginny. "_Finite Incantatum_." Ginny's expression did not change.

Harry was trying to push aside his despair when he remembered the Elder Wand. "Where are Luna and Malfoy?" He asked Ron.

"They were just a moment behind us," Ron said, quickly averting his gaze.

"What did you do?" Harry asked sternly.

"Nothing, I—oy! There they are."

Sure enough the two blondes were entering the room. Though Luna was plainly dressed, Harry had always found her quite pretty. With her long wavy blonde hair and silver gray eyes, he thought the two looked like siblings.

"Let me see the Elder Wand," Harry said, and Malfoy handed it over. _"Finite Incantatum."_

Ginny's expression changed gradually. Her smile faded, and her eyes refocused. She blinked and looked slowly around the room. The girl's face grew confused and frightened and her eyes starting darting all around, trying to figure out how she had gotten there.

She took one shuddering breath, followed by another. Within seconds she had worked herself into a full-blown panic attack, sinking to the floor and gasping for breath like a dying thing.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Harry was afraid anything he did would make it worse.

Surprisingly, it was Malfoy who acted. He knelt on the floor just close enough to hold her hand and started talking to her. "Ginny it's over. You're safe now. Ron's here, see? And Harry and Hermione."

Ginny continued to hyperventilate, eyes darting around the room. "You're at St. Mungos, in Professor Snape's room. You were here last night, do you remember?" Still struggling for breath, Ginny just nodded. Malfoy sat patiently, still holding her tiny hand. Several minutes passed while Ginny tried to pull herself out of the shell of panic.

"What—did—they—do—to—me?" Ginny finally managed in between gasps.

"They put you under the imperious curse." Ginny let out a whimper. "They are making illegal potions and needed you to buy some of the ingredients for them. Ron and Luna and I came to get you. No one got hurt, and you didn't do anything wrong." Malfoy's voice was surprisingly gentle and reassuring. Maybe Hermione was right.

Ginny's breathing finally slowed, but still came out ragged. "Are you in pain? Do you feel that they hurt you at all?" Ginny shook her head, and looked at Malfoy for the first time.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help."

She looked around at the concerned faces in the room. Her breathing mostly returned to normal, much to Harry's relief. Everyone (excluding Professor Snape) was staring at her.

"I want to go home," she said, voice quavering, as soon as she set eyes on her brother.

"Okay. We'll go home," Ron said while nodding, and helped Ginny up off the floor. He ushered her out of the room protectively, but threw a parting glance at Harry.

"You have an amazing aptitude for dealing with hysterical women, Drake," Hermione said with a relieved smile.

"Yeah well I've had a lot of practice." He did not elaborate, and she did not ask him to. Instead they departed to resume their research.


	6. The Magic of Rare Earths

Chapter 6 — The Magic of Rare Earths

* * *

Luna stayed behind to keep Harry company. To Hermione's surprise, Harry had handed the Elder Wand back to Draco before they departed.

"Hold onto this for now."

The taller wizard didn't take it at first; suspicious gray eyes looked like they expected to be the victim of a practical joke.

"It's always done well hiding in plain sight; Dumbledore had it for over fifty years and very few people knew. Besides, everyone would assume the wand's true master would be the one wielding it. This is the best I can do to throw anyone off its scent until we can destroy it," Harry had explained.

Draco just shrugged and took the wand, securing it up his sleeve.

"Besides, it's only fair," Harry said with a mischievous smile, waving Draco's old wand in the air. The logic was sound, but she had a feeling he was thinking about more then he let on. "And keep her safe." She had barely heard Harry mumble this to Draco as they were leaving. She smiled to herself.

Her and the Elder Wand's new keeper apparated them straight from the Hospital hallway back to the library at Malfoy manner.

"You realize this just paints a giant bull's eye on your back, don't you?" Hermione said to Draco as they moved back to their seats in front of the floating mass of colors.

"Then we'll have to keep it a secret, won't we?"

"I'm serious! We don't know who else knows about the Elder Wand."

Draco turned puppy dog eyes on her. "I'll be vewy vewy cawful."

"Shut it, ferret."

"Is that the only insult you can think of?"

"Well sorry if I haven't had as much practice coming up with them as you have." She aimed her wand at the map floating in the air trying to unravel the tangled mess of spells in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Draco was trying to get a look at her work from all sides.

"Stripping off each spell one at a time until I find the one I'm looking for. Unfortunately, since they are all tangled together, if I screw up it will probably all unravel and I'll have to ping you again."

"How exactly do you 'strip' them away?"

"I allow them to start to act on me." Draco looked at her with alarm. "Remember it's just a map of the Mark, not the Mark itself. And anyway it's not acting on me exactly. Instead of using my wand to conduct magic, I use it to hold some of my magic. Technically it's still acting as a conduit, just a very slow one. The spell sees the super-concentrated magical energy and is drawn to it. Then I can analyze it instead of writhing in pain."

The wizard looked at her with awe. He was second to her in nearly every subject when they were at school, but she was so far ahead of him academically it made him feel a bit dim.

"I know what you're thinking. I assure you I'm just furthering the research of other witches and wizards. We all stand on the shoulders of giants."

"It's still brilliant," Draco said. His praise broke her concentration for just long enough that the counterspell she was sending out snapped back, and the entire map shattered into a million colorful specks that melted into the air.

"You just lack initiative." She rose from her chair and faced Draco, waited for him to move. "I need a new map."

"Oh right." He sat on the table, once again unbuttoning his sleeve. The discomfort he had felt the first time she did this had vanished, yet the subtle intimacy of the act was still oddly thrilling to her.

"Or a motive." She continued her thought as her spell worked. "I've done all of this to protect my friends and society as a whole. At first, doing better than you in school was motive enough." She laughed sadly at the far-away memory of her eleven year old self. "Now we are working to save our old Professor."

The witch's left hand was unconsciously playing with the undone buttons on his sleeve. "And after this, I don't know. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?"

"Because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself?" Draco answered without thinking, and immediately regretted his words. He had meant it to sound like a joke, but she always managed to see right through him.

Her mouth formed a silent 'oh' as she reached up to touch his cheek lightly. He tried to look away, but her honey brown eyes trapped him like sap. "All finished," she said a second later, dropping her hands and returning to her seat. She once again made the colorful map appear, its numerous layers cascading delicately into each other.

Draco sat quietly so as not to distract her again. He felt awfully useless, making a mental note to get some of this 'initiative' of which she spoke.

They worked for hours, unraveling one spell at a time. Finding the counterspells had been the hardest task. She would sometimes try a dozen for one spell, check a reference in the Malfoy's extensive library, then try a dozen more.

Draco did his best to support her, mostly just acting as a sounding board. She had successfully worked through twenty-five spells. Finally her concentration waned again, sending more sparks in the air as the remaining spells dissipated.

"Dammit." She collapsed into a chair.

"Hermione, you need to sleep. It's nearly two. You're not going to get any further in this state." She wanted to object, knowing that time was ticking away Harry's sanity, but knew she's just mess up again.

"You're right," she said but then remembered she didn't have anywhere to go. The Burrow was out of the question as was another night on a cot in that stupid tent. She could ask Harry if she could stay at Grimmauld Place, but it lacked a horizontal surface clean enough to sleep on. She wanted to cry.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked softly.

"I just don't know where to go."

Putting her head down to sleep on the hard wood table in front of her looked more appealing by the second.

"What do you mean? Where have you been staying?"

The witch pointed at her small beaded bag.

"You've been staying in your purse?"

"In a tent."

"You're staying here."

"I'm not going to impose again."

"Stop saying that. You're not an imposition."

Hermione watched him for any betraying hint of annoyance. Instead all she saw was… well, stubbornness. She _was_ tired, but one thought did cross her mind. "Your mother."

"What do you think she's going to do? Slit your throat in the middle of the night?"

She averted her eyes. That is exactly what she had been thinking. "No…"

"Then you stay in my room, and I'll be just outside."

"I'm not going to put you out of your bed again."

"Then I'll have them set up a bed for me in the sitting room you infernally stubborn woman!"

"Pot, kettle."

"Jinx!" He cried. By now she had gotten used to the privileged heir calling his elves in this manner, though when Jinx arrived she was slightly surprised. Jinx was the youngest elf she had ever seen, and his large bulbous eyes blinked at both of them eagerly. "If you would be so kind—," Draco said with a meaningful glance in her direction. Hermione wanted to kiss him. "—as to set up a bed in my sitting room."

Jinx bowed once, and vanished. Her companion once again escorted her through the maze of a manor, and she once again got completely lost. By the time they arrived back at his room, there were four house elves tucking blankets into what looked like a giant round ottoman in one corner of the room. "What's that?" She asked.

"A bed." Draco sounded amused.

"It's round."

"Think outside the box."

"And into a round box?"

He laughed at her continued confusion and shoved her gently in the direction of what were to be her sleeping quarters again that evening. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Once inside, the door was closed behind her. A few burning candles were all that illuminated the room. The curtains, which covered one entire wall from floor to ceiling, were already closed. "May Wikket please help Miss dress for bed?"

She saw the house elf then, standing on the ridiculously large bed. It was wide enough to sleep the entire Weasley family comfortably. "Oh, certainly."

Wikket picked up a nightgown she had laid out on the bed. It was white cotton and appeared to be floor length. She stripped down, trying to hide her embarrassment, and the garment hovered above her. She held her hands up, and it easily slid onto her thin form.

Hermione just barely had time to wonder who this had belonged to when Wikket interrupted her. "'Twas Mistress Elisabeth's. You would have liked her."

Wikket help up one bony finger to Hermione's temple, and suddenly her vision was filled with the image of a young woman. By her blonde hair, she could only be a Malfoy. She was running in a field and a boy about her age was playfully chasing her. Then she saw another vision of Elisabeth sitting at a long formal dinner table, slipping sweets to a much younger version of Wikket who was hiding under her skirts.

Hermione reeled at the elf's casual use of legilimency. She had no time to comment, as the bed was turned down and the elf disappeared with a curt, "Goodnight, Miss."

"I do have my own night clothes," she said to the air, but got into bed anyway. She was too tired to think anymore, and her brain went right to sleep.

An unknown interval of time later, Hermione woke up. It was so dark when the curtains were closed that it was impossible to tell time in the room. She quickly drew them with a flick of her wand but immediately regretted it. It was definitely past dawn, and she reckoned that the sun had had a fair amount of time to terrorize the sky if the tears leaking from her blinded eyes were any indication.

She went to peek into the front room. The strange circular bed had been moved. It was now right in front of the bedroom door, as if guarding her from the Narcissa Malfoy in her nightmares. Draco was still fast asleep, curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed.

Shutting the door, she retreated to the bathroom. Hermione relished the warmth of the shower, breathing in the steam. She felt unhurried for the first time in a year. Once she was clean and starting to prune, she ebbed the flow of water. There was a warming charm on the clean fluffy towel she grabbed.

She went back into the bedroom. Someone, she strongly suspected her shadowing elf, had made the bed and set out a dress on it that did not belong to her. Hermione thought back to the wardrobe she had seen earlier. The dresses in it must have belonged to Elisabeth too.

Currently laying on the bed was a simple, sepia-pink frock. Its half-sleeves were capped with lacy cuffs, and the same lace accented the waist. The neck line was modest, though not too prudish. She hesitated only a moment before putting it on.

A pair of grey leggings and flats from her purse completed the outfit. She went back into the bathroom to look in the full length mirror. "Miss must let Wikket brush her hair." The house elf appeared again, brush in hand. "'Tis a special day." Hermione wasn't sure what she meant by that, but she agreed.

Wikket was so gentle that she hardly noticed five minutes go by until the house elf declared, "Finished!" Most people trying to tame her hair took two hacks at it and gave up. She returned to the mirror. Apparently 'brush' meant 'perform miracles,' because her hair was now in flowing curls, partially secured on one side with a gemmed flower clip.

"Thank you!" She cried, wanting to squeal and hug the house elf. Draco hadn't warned her off hugging them.

Wikket bowed and said, "My pleasure, Miss, as always," before disapparating.

Hermione grabbed her bag and slowly cracked the bedroom door. Draco was still sleeping, and she didn't have the heart to wake him. Braving the wrath of Narcissa Malfoy, she let herself out into the corridor.

She tried to retrace the route they had taken to and from the library, but soon gave up. Finally she had to call for Wikket to help her. The house elf wrapped her tiny hand around one of Hermione's fingers, gently leading her through the manor.

Hermione quickly realized they were not going the same way they had the day before. Spotting a familiar door a moment later, she also quickly realized why. "Wait." Her small companion froze. Hermione's suspicions were confirmed as she opened the door to the room that lead to the cellars: the room where Bellatrix had tortured her.

She thought she might start to cry, or panic, or even vomit. All she could feel was sedate sadness underlined with a stinging regret. She wished she had known Draco better then. She wished they didn't have to always be at each other's throats. So much could have been easier on so many people.

She closed the door and on the room and the memory, and let the elf lead her on in silence. Once she settled into their spot in the library she took out her notebook. She didn't have an active map to work on, so she catalogued all of the spells she had unraveled. She finished that in a quarter of an hour: still no Draco.

Moving into the stacks she began further research on the last spell she was looking at. It appeared to be the only one so far that the bearer of the Mark actually had access to; this was exciting enough. She suspected it was what allowed Voldemort's followers to travel as black smoke. This thrilled her to no end. She was deep in thought, nose stuck in a book, when Draco finally arrived.

He was impeccably dressed and groomed as always, but he looked like hell. "Sorry I'm late." The words sounded almost foreign. The man's eyes were tired and nearly tearing, and his normally confident walk looked defeated.

"Are you alright?" she asked, setting aside her reading immediately.

"Never been better." The weakness underlying each word, along with the house elf that was tugging his pant leg while looking up at him meaningfully and then over at her, indicated otherwise.

She walked over to him, placing a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

"No I'm not."

Hermione glanced down at the elf, who had his hand on the hilt of the tiny dagger she had seen yesterday.

She shelved her anger. It wasn't fair, and wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Draco, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"_Imperio_," she said, watching her curse trap him. Being unpracticed in unforgivable curses, she knew hers was not very strong. If he had resisted at all she would release him, but somehow she sensed he would not. He did look a bit terrified.

With a wave of her wand she viciously vanished every scrap of fabric he was wearing. She changed the refractive properties of the air around his nether regions slightly to protect his modesty.

She searched his pale skin, unable to stop herself from again tracing her fingers over the cuts on his inner thighs. They looked much better. She thought she detected the slightest hint of arousal behind the censoring screen and blushed despite herself.

She found what she was looking for on his back left shoulder, just above the shoulder blade. He had an ugly mark that was short but deep, and had clearly become infected. "Why don't you take better care of yourself, sweetheart?" she implored, but his incapacitated state prevented him from giving an answer. She hadn't expected one even if he could.

She reached down to grab his dagger, and pierced the tip of her finger, letting a few drops of her blood fall into his cut. She muttered a few incantations over his wound and it became less purple, then less red, then began to sear shut. It was almost as powerful as the Essence of Dittany. At least reading all of those medical books had come in handy.

She faced him again. He no longer glanced about like a crazed animal; his eyes were just sad. With a flick of her wand he was fully dressed. "You've given me no choice," she said, before raising her hands from her sides slightly. His hands moved to mirror hers by her will.

"I call upon the Earths," she whispered while inhaling, and then grew quiet. Draco saw her eyes roll back in her head and they were both stationary in the large room's enveloping silence for quite some time. Finally she opened her eyes, and a white wispy outline of her floated towards him. It seemed to settle itself into his skin. She released him from the Imperius curse, and he fell backwards into his chair. "Sorry," she said, reaching out to help him sit.

"Why did you call me sweetheart?" He asked numbly.

Of all the things, he would focus on that. "Because you have a sweet heart."

He continued to stare at her.

"My mum calls _everyone_ sweetheart, or dear, or sugar… baby doll… honey…" she rolled her eyes. "At first I was embarrassed by it, but I think it's part of what endears her to people. It instantly familiarizes and comforts them."

"What did you do to me?" He asked, looking at his hands.

"I healed your cut."

"I meant after that."

She phrased her words carefully: "I made it so that, if you want to hurt yourself again, you have to go through me."

His eyes flared, and he looked like he was sorting through any number of things he wanted to say to her. He settled on, "I can feel it." He was rubbing his right palm, completely mesmerized. "How did you do it?"

"Rare Earths magic," she said, delighted when he nodded slightly in recognition.

"That takes twenty minutes?"

"You try talking to something that's four and a half billion years old. I've been researching how Harry's mother protected him from Voldemort all those years ago."

"She died for him."

"Lots of people died for those they loved. She was selfless _and_ clever. She used Rare Earths to protect him. The reason it worked is because that type of magic is powerful, but powerful in a different way than most, including Voldemort, think of power. It's grounded to the very Earth and has a nearly unshakable foundation. It was a subtle but powerful defense, if you will." She knew from experience with Ron and Harry that when all else failed, relaying information through sports metaphors helped boys understand.

"I thought that kind of magic only works on people you love."

"Technically you can build a foundation on any strong feeling towards someone, even, say, revulsion." Draco looked stung by her words. She could have kicked herself. "But of course, Drake, I love all of my friends." She bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

Hermione produced a fever reducing potion for him to take, and ensured that he drank it before getting back to work. She nervously flipped through the book she was looking at, barely reading the section headings while stealing glances at her silent partner. He started at his hands, then stared at nothing, but eventually seemed to come back to himself. "What are you looking for?" he asked quietly. Hermione was relieved to hear him speak.

"I'm trying to unfurl the spell that got me caught up last night."

"What is it?"

She grew excited as she told him her suspicions about the spell. For as much as she hated flying, this mode of travel intrigued her: perhaps because the user was not relying on a skinny piece of wood or an animal that could get a cramp or break a feather at any second. "Have you ever traveled that way?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"A few times."

"Will you take me sometime?"

Her exuberance penetrated even Draco's miry mind. "Sure." Hermione gave him a brief hug as he came closer to look at what she was reading. "Shouldn't you be looking at elemental magic?"

"Elemental magic? For a transport spell?" Some epiphany nipped at the edges of her brain, but refused to manifest itself. Luckily, Draco's mind was still working.

"Where there's smoke…"

"There's fire! Oh _those_ types of elements! Why didn't I think of that?" She returned a moment later with a new stack of books.

Draco slowly returned to normal, probably in correlation with his fever breaking, and helped her with research. He was an invaluable partner: even better than her at identifying extraneous detail, and he could read at an alarmingly fast pace.

"How do you do that?" She asked finally. "Read so fast?"

"It's all about mind control."

She scowled at him.

"I mean control of your own mind: clearing it, closing it, opening it, sorting it, organizing it, etc. Something I learned when I learned Occlumency."

"Oh," she said. Another subject she was deficient at.

Her thoughts must have been written all over her face, because he briefly stopped reading to put his hand on hers. "I'm not an expert, but I can teach you what I know. If you want."

This thought cheered her up immensely, and they agreed. As soon as they had the time he would take her smoke sailing and teach her Occlumency.

They finally had a list of a few counterspells to try, so Hermione once again took out her wand and pointed it at Draco's Dark Mark. The map, which they were both viewing with increasing animosity, was expelled from her wand a few minutes later, and she quickly spelled away the layers she had already solved.

The next spell came off on her first try. They both let out a sigh of relief. After lunch they found the spell they were looking for.

Voldemort had used one of the older medicinal spells, probably figuring anyone trying to undo his work would assume he'd only consult books on the Dark Arts. It was also, in Hermione's opinion, the most efficient.

"It involves using a conduit again. Remember I had said there may be conduits hidden in the Mark that my spell wouldn't pick up?" Draco nodded. "Well there must be."

Hermione insisted they go to the hospital so she could explain everything to everyone at once.

"_Finite Incantatum,_" she said to the partially deflowered map, which her wand then inhaled. "Mind if I borrow these?" She indicated some of the books splayed unceremoniously about the desk. Draco shook his head. She shrunk them down and stuffed them into her bag.

"Okay I'm ready." She took Draco's hand.

"I've fixed the wards so you can apparate in and out whenever you want."

She stared at him dumbfounded, still just standing there holding his hand. "I thought you could only do that for family?" And as far as she knew, such a thing was permanent unless one tore down their entire estate and burned the ashes of its ashes.

"Of course, baby doll, my friends are my family."

She apparated them to St. Mungo's to hide her blush.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Rare Earths are a group of naturally occurring but relatively uncommon elemental metals.


	7. It's Taboo, the Word Grokkikzump

Chapter 7 — It's Taboo, the Word Grokkikzump

* * *

Luna stayed with Harry through the previous evening, talking quietly with him while holding one of Professor Snape's hands. At one point she pointed out that the beds of his fingernails had gone from slightly more reddish to slightly more purplish and declared that he was cold, heaping blanket upon blanket on top of him.

The witch's pleasant demeanor was a welcome distraction. Harry always admired her ability to float a conversation seamlessly between her favorite dessert and the impending doom of the free wizarding world. He also felt comfortable just sitting with her in silence. _Special, precious, unshakable Luna. _

When it grew late she had to return to her father. She said he needed extra comforting after all that had happened. Luna was the one held prisoner, but of course she was the one doing the comforting. He invited her to come back anytime.

The next day Ron returned, once again fuming. This time he was complaining about his mother. Apparently she had coaxed the tale of her abduction out of Ginny, and was ruling the Weasley household with an iron apron. So soon after losing her son, Harry couldn't say he could blame her.

"You'd think she wants us to crawl back into her womb! I can't sneeze without her running up to take my temperature!" Ron looked perplexed. "If I'm in the loo more than two minutes she's at the door asking 'Is everything coming out okay?'" The tall redhead had pitched his voice high and crackly in a poor imitation of his mother.

Harry laughed. "Just give it time. She'll let up. You've all lost a lot," he said, empathizing with both parties.

"Doubt it. It's only gotten worse."

"Then move out?"

"And go where?"

"You know Grimmauld Place is always open to you, Ron."

"Thanks, mate, but I don't think I can deal with Hermione right now. She is staying there right?"

"I don't think so. She probably would have told me, and she didn't mention it."

"You don't think she's staying with that—"

"She's probably sleeping in that bloody bag of hers." Harry cut him off before his friend could work himself into full histrionics.

"Right," the redhead replied, but still looked pensive.

"Hello boys," a dreamy voice floated over to them from the door.

Bless her heart, Luna had returned. Harry cheered internally. "Luna!" he said, once again springing up. He escorted her to the chair he had vacated. "I'm so glad you came back!" She always had the most impeccable timing.

"I just wanted to check on you all." She looked up at the boys towering over her, then at the sleeping Professor. "Oh he's quite warm now. We can take the extra blankets off. You shouldn't be talking harshly in here in front of him, you know," she stated in the same tone, turning towards them and dipping her eyebrows down slightly at the center.

"How did you—"

"Trogglefrots," she said as if the answer should have been obvious. "They feed on anger, and make it hard for everyone else to breath. They've been known to suffocate entire rooms full of people within minutes. Didn't you know?" She had gotten up to clear the mountain of blankets off Snape, and now swatted at the air above him.

"Er, no." Harry opened a window.

"Sorry." Ron hovered awkwardly, taking what he evidently thought would be calming breaths. _He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo. _He sounded like a woman in labor.

Hermione entered then, followed by Malfoy. Ron's eyes widened, and his labor intensified.

"Tell me you have good news," Harry said, "I mean hi."

_He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo._

"Hello and yes we do." Hermione plopped down on one of the hard utilitarian chairs, pulling a few books out of her bag and unshrinking them.

"Did you ever think about leaving them a bit smaller when you unshrink them?" Harry asked. "It might be easier to fit them on one table."

_He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo._

"Tried. All the words get smooshed together," Hermione said dismissively. "What's wrong with you?" she asked Ron. The awkward, hovering man in labor just shook his head and ran out of the room, crashing into Malfoy's shoulder on the way out.

"Long story," Harry said.

"Aren't they all?" Luna was looking curiously over Hermione's work.

Hermione began explaining the research they had been doing over the last day and a half, when they weren't sleeping or out looking for Ginny. At some point, Ron floated back in looking suspiciously serene.

As she explained, Malfoy pointed out things she had forgotten or prompted her memory when it was failing her, and Harry realized they must have been working very closely together. Ron would undoubtedly see this as well. His volatile friend, however, miraculously remained calm.

"So the spell we found uses a conduit in the Dark Mark," Hermione was saying, "the same one that can be used to reverse it."

"I don't quite understand. What exactly is a conduit?" Harry asked.

"Technically, anything that focuses or conducts magic. Wands are the most common form; they do both. You could make a conduit out of a tea cozy if you knew how. I've already told you how Voldemort used the Marks to store spells for later use. I think he did a lot of wandless magic through them as well, probably at the least anything that was directed towards the bearer."

Harry nodded. That made sense to him; it would make his followers all the easier to punish or praise.

"The spell that you appear to have used was linked to another. He never intended to use it as you did." Hermione hesitated, which made Harry start to worry. She sat gathering her thoughts, and it appeared not even Malfoy could help her with what she wanted to say next.

"There's a reason he called his followers 'Death Eaters.' There's a reason they would torture people until they begged for death. It allowed them to meet the conditions to initiate a soul transference, which would then be passed onto Voldemort. Every person they killed made him stronger. The stronger he got the more powerful he became, and the more powerful he became, well… he was nearly unstoppable. I can only hope all those souls are at rest now that he is gone."

There was abject silence in the small room. Hermione looked absolutely devastated, and Malfoy put a comforting hand on her back. Ron was smiling widely, but biting his lip so hard it was bleeding.

"Well all the Trogglefrots are gone," Luna informed them. "Sadness scares them away."

"There's something else. From what I've analyzed so far, only a few of the spells in the Mark can be utilized by the bearer. I thought I was going daft at first, but the more I looked it seems the rest of the spells can be utilized by anyone. That is, anyone that can speak Parseltongue."

"Why would he do that? It would make him vulnerable, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps it was too difficult to ensure the spells could only be used by him based on magical signature."

Harry doubted that Voldemort would let anything being "too difficult" stop him from doing it, but he kept this to himself for the time being.

"It seems he did try to make himself as invulnerable as possible. Harry, when I told you second year that being a Parselmouth was rare it appears that was a bit of an understatement. The language is all but extinct. There is not another person that can speak Parseltongue within a thousand miles."

"So it wouldn't have been much of a vulnerability," Harry supplied.

"Exactly. I was looking into this awhile ago, but just put two and two together. According to the Ministry records, the few Parselmouths there were all suffered mysterious deaths as Voldemort was coming to power, but no one linked them together."

"So he was systematically eradicating them?"

"I believe so. Whether it was to ensure his control of the Dark Marks, or for some other reason, I cannot be sure. What I do know is that you are likely the only one alive that could utilize them."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"The Dark Mark is just a tool, Harry. It is not inherently good or bad, and, like any potentially useful tool, I hate to see it wasted."

"You've got to be joking."

She looked irritated. "If there are Death Eaters still at large, there is a chance you could trick them into coming to your call." Well that made more sense. "That's all for another day, of course."

"You said whatever spell I used was connected to others. Is there a chance it's connected to something you haven't looked at yet?"

"Virtually no chance. The spells were tangled, but each only to those above and below it at most. I went a few layers further after I found what I was looking for just to be sure."

Hermione seemed convinced. Still, "virtually no chance" was by definition not "no chance."

"This is Professor Snape's soul we're talking about, Hermione."

"You think I don't know that?" she snapped. Luna made a tut-tut sound, and suddenly a small ball of fire erupted from her hair.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked, his serene mask still intact.

"Oh it's my new pet." The blonde witch pulled a strange animal out from where it was hiding in her hair, perched on her shoulder. "He's a miniature dragon. Isn't he lovely? I've named him Blue, because he's blue!"

Luna had both of her hands cupped together, and the dragon, tail and all, fit in them fully. He was immediately reminded of the small bewitched dragons he and the other champions had drawn from a bag during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The creature looked at Harry, cocked its head to one side, and stuck his nose towards him. "Oh he likes you Harry." Well that was one difference between Blue and the Hungarian Horntail.

Luna thrust her hands towards him, and he gently picked up the gangly creature. It curled into a ball in one of his hands and promptly fell asleep.

"Draco got him for me."

They all turned to Malfoy. Hermione tried not to look too jealous. Harry tried not to look too surprised. Luna smiled fondly at the blonde wizard, and Ron had a stoned glare glazed onto his face.

"Well anyway, if you want me to go through the rest of the spells I will. It will just take more time." Hermione sounded exhausted, and he began to feel guilty.

"Do you know about how long?"

"A day probably, unless we run into more complications."

"Please," he asked his friend. She had never said no to him, and she probably never would. He made a mental note to get her a really, really nice present for the next holiday.

"Of course, Harry." She began to pack up her books.

The hospital door burst open, and Healer Andrell stepped a foot inside, flourishing a massive tome in front of him. "I think I've found something!"

He looked at the variably sad, tired, angry, and jealous faces in the room, then down at the books still on the table. One of them was identical to the book he was holding. "And so have you," he said. He stepped fully into the room. "Alright, out with it."

"We were just leaving," Hermione said, hastily packing up her last books. She reached her hand out to Malfoy, and they disapparated without even going into the hallway. This left Harry to explain everything to the overanxious Healer.

"What the hell is that?" Andrell yelped.

Harry was still holding out his hand, and it still contained a sleeping Blue. The dragon's light snores sounded like a far away elephant trumpeting through a synthesizer. Harry sighed. _This is my life_.

* * *

"You seriously thought _I_ was the heir of Slytherin?"

Draco and Hermione had been swapping old school stories while they took a 'sanity break': his words, at his insistence. He had taken it amazingly well when she told him they had used Polyjuice Potion to spy on him, probably because she also mentioned how she turned into a cat and was in hospital with a tail for a week afterwards. They both had a good laugh. "If I were, then my father would have been too, and he could have just opened the Chamber."

"Well we didn't think about that. We were twelve after all."

"Why didn't you just use that bloody cloak to spy on me?" he asked.

"Well the potion took a month to brew, but even if we followed you around that entire time there was no guarantee we would catch you talking about it."

"_A month?_ Are you sure you were sorted into the right house?" They were walking through the maze of an estate. Hermione had told him he didn't need to avoid the cellar entrance, so she was finally getting her bearings.

"Can you imagine if I wasn't? Ron and Harry hunting horcruxes alone? We'd all be dead." They were both able to laugh at this comment. Maybe the wounds of war were starting to heal.

The Manor's walls were covered with paintings. Most of their inhabitants gaped at them as they passed but didn't make disparaging comments. There were even a few who greeted them politely. At the end of the hallway was a prominently lit painting of a beautiful young woman she recognized immediately. "Elisabeth," she breathed.

"How do you know about Elisabeth?"

Hermione grew intensely uncomfortable. "Um… I'm wearing her clothes." Her friend just gave her a curious look. "I'm so sorry! I didn't think to ask. Wikket brought them to me, because she didn't think I had anything else. That was incredibly thoughtless of me!"

Draco cut her off by placing his hands on both her shoulders. "It's fine. Elisabeth has been dead for nearly a century; I'm sure she won't miss them. Besides, from what I understand, she left everything to her house elf when she died."

"Wouldn't leaving her clothes grant the elf freedom?" Hermione asked.

"Except that freedom was never hers to give. That is the right of the patriarch of the family." He held his hands up in surrender to her scathing glare. "I didn't make the rules lady. My point was, those clothes are hers to give or lend to whomever she pleases, so please don't worry about it."

Hermione nodded, approaching the painting hesitantly. "Who was she?"

"My great-grandfather's sister on my father's side. She died when she was quite young. You would have liked her."

"So I hear."

They moved into a side room. It was a small, poorly lit, and probably the most bedraggled thing she had seen in the entire manor. There were benches with deep scars in them: no chairs or tables. The coat rack, predictably, contained coats, but a variety of other clothing hung from it as well.

On one wall hung the strangest collection of photos she had seen yet. They were behind glass and had names listed like family photos, but they were all pictures of animals. She squinted at the one in front of her: a sheep, a bear, and a goat. The sheep and goat stood swaying in time together, and the bear, who had a top hat, was flipping it on and off and dancing on his hind paws while brandishing a cane.

"What are these?" she asked.

"Oh, sort of a family joke. Most of us are animagi; we call these our _other_ family photos. We would tear up the house if we went traipsing through it all the time so we use this room as a go-between. That's all great-grandpa grizzly bear." Draco pointed at the marks on the benches.

Draco opened the antiquated wooden door. It looked like it had been ripped off its hinges by brute force a few times, and then reattached ad hoc in preparation for the next time in might be ripped off its hinges. She took a heady breath of the lovely, allergen-ridden spring air and sneezed. A realization coalesced in her mind. "You're an animagus."

"Yes."

"What do you turn into?" Hermione asked. Yet another thing she couldn't do.

He squinted into the sun. "I'll show you some time. Do you trust me?" She nodded. He put one hand around her waist and pulled her close to him. "Hold on tight," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear and sending shivers down her spine.

She felt like she was floating. His warm body was still pressed close to hers, but she felt like she was free. A bird squawked in surprise right next to her left ear and her eyes popped open. The startled bird grew smaller as they soared away from it. She really was floating.

The moist air at altitude did not make her sneeze, and she enjoyed its subtle heft. She watched the miniature land below her. They stayed near the Manor, which somehow looked bigger the higher they went. Draco also took her over a thick forest nearby.

All too soon they landed. She gave him a quick squeeze and a heartfelt thank you. "Again soon?" she begged. He smirked and nodded.

They were soon settled in the library again, and Hermione was feeling refreshed. She quickly produced the map of spells they had yet to riddle out.

Both of their spirits rose even higher when most of the remaining spells were easy to pick apart. Voldemort had stored all manner of manipulative spells in the Mark. They must have made sense in his sick and twisted mind, but Hermione tried not to think about it too much. After all the man was dead.

She immediately got stuck when she tried to take off the last spell, so they agreed to tackle it after a hasty dinner. Hermione though they might never if she didn't keep reminding him that food was helpful, if not vital. No wonder he had slowly waned over their years at Hogwarts—not that she noticed.

She had another go at the last spell, feeling it latching onto her wand as she triggered it. Once it was in place, it just sat there doing nothing, as if mocking her. "It's just not doing anything!" she cried in frustration, her teeth grinding together.

"Maybe there is a time aspect. Let's try to wait it out."

Hermione didn't have any other ideas, so they waited. Simply holding the spell did not require as much concentration, so Draco started a game of wizard's chess with her. She lost spectacularly. "Don't worry you're still better than Voldemort. I had to start letting him win after he cursed my eyebrow off that one time. What is it?"

Hermione was paying full attention to her wand again. It had pulsed, and she got the distinct image of Malfoy Manor in her mind. "Something triggered it," she said quietly. They waited in hushed silence, but nothing happened. "Maybe something you said. Say whatever you said again."

"Okay but I'll feel like I'm repeating myself."

Hermione playfully bopped him on the head. He repeated what he had said. She saw the image again the moment he said Voldemort's name. "Oh! Oh my!"

"You don't say."

"It's the Taboo! Voldemort put a trace on his name, so that the location of anyone who spoke it would be revealed." Another mental image of Malfoy Manner had pulsed in her mind. It was already getting annoying; no wonder none of his followers wanted to say his name.

"Great! How do we get rid of it?"

"No idea. By all accounts he invented the spell himself. We'll have to replicate it before we can destroy it." She slowly released the spell from her wand and the innocent crimson wisp went back to hovering in the air. "This is the first spell he set into his followers: the entire foundation of the Dark Mark. He must have been tracking his name for far longer than we ever imagined."

She went away and returned with another giant stack of books.

"This is going to be a long night."

* * *

They had again worked well past midnight. Hermione had laid her head down for "just a minute" and Draco ended up carrying her upstairs and tucking her into bed.

The next morning they immediately got back to it, shoveling breakfast into their mouths as they worked.

"It has to be a word absolutely no one else will be saying," Hermione explained, as soon as she was ready to test the spell she had pieced together.

They both thought intensely. "Could it be a made up word?" Draco asked.

"I don't see why not."

"How about grokkikzump?"

"That's just a collection of sounds you've mashed together."

"Isn't that all words are?"

"Point. Grokkikzump it is. Let me see the Elder Wand."

Draco pulled the wand from up his sleeve and handed it to her. She held it in front of her silently, but she had an intense look of concentration on her face.

At first nothing happened, but eventually a ball of blue lightning formed. It was no bigger than a snitch at first, and swirled in a mass in front of her. It grew and grew until it was at least a foot across. She reached out to take it in her hands, drawing them out slowly to expand it. The magnificent cloud turned as she rotated her hands and exploded violently as she abruptly snapped them back.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the tiny witch in front of him. He had only ever seen Voldemort or his Aunt do magic like that, and in truth it frightened him. Hermione was intently studying her hands.

"Erm, did it work?" he asked.

"Grokkikzump! Ouch!" She teetered ominously and felt around for a chair to pull underneath her.

"You ok?"

"My hands are burning; lightning hurts." She pouted at him adorably, and his heart melted ever so slightly.

He looked at her palms, which were indeed scalded bright red from handling the raw energy. "Wikket!" he said, and the house elf appeared. She applied a cooling salve and bandaged Hermione's hands, then performed a few healing spells to expedite the process.

"_You're_ the field medic?" Hermione asked the elf, who was handling her hands like they were thinly blown glass.

"Yes, Miss," she said, and vanished a moment later.

"Well I never want to do that again." Hermione examined her palms.

"You'll get calluses, and it will be easier next time," Draco assured her. "Bellatrix said it was like breaking in a new pair of shoes." He immediately regretted speaking his Aunt's name, but the prideful Gryffindor took it in stride.

"More like a new pair of shoes break you in," Hermione mumbled.

"So did it work?" he asked again.

"Oh, yes."

"Brilliant!"

"Gave me a splitting headache."

"Not so brilliant."

"Dispelling it will be easier." Hermione held out the Elder Wand again, muttering something under her breath. Draco did not see or feel anything, but she soon declared, "All done. Grokkikzump!" She heaved a sigh of relief and handed the wand back to him.

Pointing her own wand at the last smoky red ringlet floating in the air, Hermione dispelled it in an instant. She looked ready to cry with relief. "We should get to St. Mungo's straightaway."


	8. Shake Dreams From Your Hair

Chapter 8 — Shake Dreams From Your Hair

* * *

After Harry had explained all that Hermione had discovered to Andrell, he thought the older man might propose to her. At the very least try to recruit her to their research and development team.

When she returned early the next day she handed him a slip of paper. "That's everything you have to do. You must follow the instructions to the letter, and we should probably practice the pronunciations of the incantations."

Harry had a nurse collect Healer Andrell, who had insisted on being present for anything they tried on his patient. He supposed that was not an unreasonable request; they were just so accustomed to relying only on each other. Once the healer arrived in a swirl of red robes and smiles, Hermione began coaching him.

"…and the final incantation is _Animus Restitutum_."

"_Animus Restitutum," _Harry repeated carefully.

"Perfect. Don't forget you'll need to say everything in Parseltongue."

"_Animus Restitutum,"_ he said again, this time in Parseltongue.

Hermione shrugged. Andrell kept sending adoring looks her way.

"I guess we may as well begin," Harry said, looking at Andrell for permission. The Healer nodded, and Hermione started putting protective enchantments up around the room.

"I could have just put a sign on the door," Andrell crooned through his teeth while bobbling his head about.

Hermione shrugged again and got up to stand next to Malfoy. His presence seemed to soothe her. _Oh the times, they have changed_, Harry thought to himself.

Ron had not yet returned that day (Harry suspected this was Mrs. Weasley's doing), and Luna was helping her father start up the Quibbler's printing presses again. It was probably for the best that only three people were looking on as he tried to invoke magic he could barely understand.

Harry gently pulled back the fabric covering the slumbering man's Dark Mark. He noted that his nail beds were once again tinged purple. "Do you think he might be cold?" Harry asked, pointing it out to the healer.

"Oh my yes!" Andrell said, slightly alarmed, and put a warming charm on his blanket.

Satisfied, Harry held out his wand and pointed it at the slumbering man's forearm. Luckily the "ritual" was short so he didn't have much to screw up. He gained access to the "conduit" by _demanding_ access to Professor Snape himself. The remaining incantations were easy, thanks to Hermione's tutelage.

The moment the last sound of the last syllable of the last word of the last spell rolled off his hissing tongue, he fainted dead away.

* * *

"Well this is boring as hell," Severus sighed.

"Professor?" A voice called from right next to him.

He turned and opened his eyes for the first time. "Potter?!" The once arrogant face now held only concern, and his haunted eyes were unnervingly affectionate. "What are you doing here?" _And what have you done to your face?_

"It's time to wake up."

"Wake up? Are you mad? I'm dead you idiot!"

"Not quite. I saved you."

"Why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time!"

Severus looked around him. "Where the devil are we anyway?"

Harry looked over Severus' shoulder then refocused on him, a strange sappy smile now plastered on his face. "Where would you say we are?"

"It looks like Schwarzwald… The Black Forest in Germany. Except… much brighter."

"It's lovely." Harry started to wander around, hands in his pockets. Twigs snapped beneath his feet as he walked, and Severus watched him with disbelief.

"You're not dead," Severus observed. Harry shook his head. "The Dark Lord?"

"He's…. gone."

Severus grew cold at the hesitation. "Gone?"

"Because of what he did, he will never be able to cross over. But he is no longer a threat to the mortal world." Harry's voice was laced with pity. How could the boy pity such a vile creature?

"How are you here?"

Harry simply smiled. "I have a few theories. I'll tell you all about them if you come back with me."

Severus grew weak and felt like he might collapse. "I have a choice then?"

"We all have a choice whether to live, every day. It's just that not everyone sees it that way."

"You've spent too much time around Albus," Severus said in a dry tone.

The boy laughed. "Yes, you have a choice."

He considered his surroundings and the boy in front of him, and everything he had mulled over the past… however long. "I'm so tired."

The boy nodded with sympathy, but waited for him to continue. Even he knew that wasn't the real reason for his hesitation. "I don't have anything to go back to."

Harry stepped up to him, grabbing his upper arms so tightly it was painful. "More people care for you than you know: both dead and alive. And they want you to finally live your life."

Even his cold, dead heart could not question the steel in Harry's voice, and he was far too proud to whine _'But I don't-wanna!'_ at the boy. He settled on "How would I get even back?"

"Well," Harry said while looking around, "There are no trains. Maybe we just walk?"

His thought was interrupted as the distinct clacking of a metal cowbell came from nearby, followed by a braying sound. A tall gray donkey, its eyes alert and ears twitching, emerged from behind a tree. It had saddle packs that were stuffed to the brim, with several bells and beaded straps of leather handing from them. It was fully outfitted to take a rider.

Harry gave Severus a dopey grin while slowly releasing his death grip.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's your party."

Severus rolled his eyes, but mounted up, not wanting to insult the donkey.

"Enjoy your ride," Harry said, his eyes twinkling. Yes, Harry had spent far, far too much time with Albus.

"Yippie kai yay," Severus said emotionlessly, and Harry watched the unlikely pair bray, clink, jingle, and disappear into the blinding light.

* * *

Severus regained consciousness quickly but kept his eyes closed and breathing shallow. He tried to ascertain what was going on around him, shoving his dream to the back of his mind for later analysis.

He was quite warm and in a comfortable bed. It seemed to be dimly lit, given what light he could see through his eyelids, and there were two voices talking in hushed tones. By the even breathing near his head he gathered there was another sleeping personage next to him. He tried to move slightly, to see if his actions would result in any repercussions from whoever was awake in the room. Instead, it was his own body that protested. He immediately tensed, hissing as he felt shooting pains in his neck and head. Dear Merlin he ached.

Both of the people he had sensed rushed to his side, immediately laying soothing hands on him. _Okay, not captors_. "Professor?" His eyes flew open upon recognizing his once favored student's voice.

"Draco?" Snape asked, confused. He looked at the frizzy haired witch standing next to him. "Miss Granger?" _Why aren't they trying to kill each other? _"Did I get on the wrong donkey?"

The pair exchanged a worried look. "Everything is going to be fine," Hermione said gently, stroking his hair and glanced just behind him.

Severus followed her gaze to none other than H. James Potter sleeping away right next to him. "What happened to him?"

"He's just fainted. I'm sure he'll come to in a moment," she said with a reassuring smile.

When he tried to move his head to get a better look, a fierce stab of pain shot up his spine all the way to the ends of his hair and he was nearly blinded.

"I'll go and get the healer." Hermione dashed off in a hurry. Draco took her place, but opted to hold his hand. He felt the bed dip ever so slightly as the tall lanky boy perched on the edge.

"The Dark Lord?"

"He's gone," Draco assured him.

Severus reached out to him with every sense but touch, and was relieved to find his former pupil's heart still pure. Draco had never turned. He could have cried with relief. The words the boy had spoken hung in the air, and brought back memories of the dream he had had. Suddenly, he was remembering Albus.

"Oh god," he cried out, feeling like he was suffocating. "I killed him."

All the events of that night came flooding back to him: most vivid of all the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. _"Severus, please."_ Albus had looked so sad but determined, and so, so tired. He couldn't help the flow to tears or the wracking sobs that came.

Draco looked around frantically at first, unsure of what to do. Eventually he helped the man sit up through the pain, and provided him with a comforting shoulder. Severus hoped he would die of shame.

Adrenaline left his body like a jilted lover and the pain returned tenfold when he was slowly lowered back to his bed. He couldn't look at Draco, certain he would see pity in his cold gray eyes. A second later, Hermione came in with a man who was evidently his healer. He dreaded to think they might have been waiting discreetly outside while he had his sobfest.

The healer looked down at him kindly. "Hello Professor Snape. I am Healer Andrell." The man's reddish gold curls undulated incessantly, as if subject to a ceaseless wind. Severus was mesmerized by them. "You've been in my care for the last ten days, though I had little to nothing to do with finding your cure. I'll leave that to your students to explain. I imagine you are used to hearing extraordinary things from them."

Andrell looked Severus over as he spoke, waving his wand over him a few times. The slight traces of magic set his hair on end, but it was not painful. In actuality it tickled quite nicely, not that he would ever admit that.

"You appear to be well on your way to a full recovery. I would like to speak with you alone, but that can wait. You were badly injured by the snake Nagini, do you remember?"

Severus nodded without taking his eyes off the man's hair, as one would a particularly tricksy leprechaun.

"Very good. You will be here for a bit longer. Do you have any questions for me right now?"

In fact, Severus' mind swarmed with questions, but he could not pin point one. He just shook his head.

"Very well. If you need me send one of your companions after me. They certainly have no problems tracking me down, day or night!" The green-robbed man waved his wand over Harry briefly. "He should be awake any moment," he gave a departing wink and was out the door a moment later, taking his hair with him.

The room was awkwardly silent. Hermione stood against a wall near the door, studying her shoes. Draco was still sitting with Severus, but appeared to be speechless. "If Voldemort is truly gone, why is Harry still alive?" the bed-bound patient asked, staring directly at the witch on the wall.

Hermione look up, and then went to sit further down on the bed next to Draco, who was also looking at her curiously. "From what I understand, when Voldemort cast the killing curse on Harry, it only killed the part of Voldemort's soul that lived inside him."

Draco's sharp intake of breath told Hermione he had finally put two and two together. She felt strange saying these words instead of Harry but knew he would want their Professor to know as soon as possible. "It nearly killed him too. He said he had sort of a dream. He was at a bright white version of King's Cross station, and Dumbledore was there, and a sickly creature that Dumbledore said was part of Voldemort's soul. Dumbledore said he could board a train and came back to us or go on. By that point we still had a Horcrux and Voldemort himself to kill, so Harry came back."

Severus' brain went into overdrive when he heard Hermione's description of Harry's 'dream.' It was too close for comfort to the one he had had. He tried to focus. "So they are all destroyed?"

"Yes, all seven. The diary and the ring were already destroyed," Hermione began, and Severus nodded his head impatiently. "A locked that belonged to Salazar Slytherin, a cup of Helga Hufflepuff's, the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, the part of Voldemort's soul that lived in Harry, and Nagini was the final Horcrux."

He let her words flow over his tired soul and began to relax for the first time in perhaps twenty years. "How?" he asked. Despite the contempt they had shown each other over the years, Severus had always had immense respect for Hermione's academic prowess, a respect that only grew now.

"We had loads of help. Regulus Black gave his life to get the locket many years ago. Once Harry—saw your memories he just marched into the forest to give himself up. And Neville killed Nagini."

Severus raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Tell me about it," she said. "The sword of Gryffindor presented itself to him after we had lost it to a turncoat goblin, and it even shielded him from Voldemort's killing curse. Anyway, I'm sure Harry would like to explain all of this to you himself."

They heard a small moan from the recliner Harry was resting in. A moment later emerald eyes popped open and locked with his. The confusing maelstrom of thoughts he had been experiencing grew worse, soon spiraling out of control.

He could feel his heart pounding almost painfully. All he could do was stare at the boy, who also seemed agitated. Suddenly he saw a clear image of Healer Andrell running into the room looking flustered. He thought he could hear the man's shuffling feet come to a halt, and realized this was happening in real time. Comparing the viewing angle of what he was seeing to the apparent direction of the sound, he realized this imagine could only have come from Harry.

Severus tried to clear his mind, and was relieved when Harry started doing the same. He carefully built the shield walls he had finely honed in his years of practicing Occlumency, pushing Harry out. Finally, there was blessed silence. He breathed a sigh of relief, and Harry slumped against the wall behind him.

The serenity lasted mere seconds. His barriers came crashing down and his thoughts were once again out of control. He began to panic. '_Hermione said this might happen.'_ Harry's mental voice was clear and his thoughts focused. The only one panicking was himself.

'_What might happen?!'_ He hissed.

Instead of words, he caught a ball of information and feelings that Harry chucked at him. It took him a few minutes to sort through it, but he quickly saw the picture of what had happened to him, and how Harry felt about it. It was actually an extremely efficient way to relay information. _'And did she say how we are going to fix it?'_

'_Er, no.'_

'_Lovely.'  
_

'_Be quiet a moment. I'm going to tell them what's going on before Andrell has an aneurism.' _

Harry kept his eyes locked on Severus. Only his mouth moved when he said, "Shut up a minute you lot." Severus focused on listening to Harry, and Harry was focused on what he was saying. His words had also made everyone else in the room quiet. This was much more manageable.

"Thank you. Hermione, what you said about the healer and patient who were permanently linked by sharing souls, did it mentioned any way to undo it?"

"No," she said, "that is part of why it was eventually forbidden."

Severus felt Harry's internal sigh, but the boy did not get frustrated. "What about any ways they managed the situation?"

"Not that I recall, but it was a court ruling. That information would not help the plaintiff's case. It may be in any medical records on them."

"Good," Harry said evenly. Severus would never have credited him with such self control were he not witnessing it firsthand. "That may help. Can you go and look?"

"Sure, we'll head to the Manor straightaway."

Andrell's chest puffed up. "I doubt even your library could rival ours as far as the medicinal field."

Hermione nodded. "If you'll let us look through it?"

"Only a fool would ever decline your help, Miss Granger," Andrell said. Severus was glad the man had worked that much out.

"Perhaps it would be best if you all went. I think the quieter it is in here the better." Harry spoke with just the right tone of begging in his voice so as not to offend anyone.

'_When did you get tact?'_ Severus thought. Harry ignored him.

He couldn't hear anything. He could only hope they had all nodded. "Would you like to come too, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Maybe distance would help?"

Severus had no idea what to say, so he left the decision to Harry. "Worth a shot." Harry slowly tore his eyes away from Severus'. It was oddly uncomfortable.

'_Think at me if you need me.' _He heard the smile even in Harry's unspoken voice.

The group departed slowly, and Severus grew uneasy. At first he was agitated, and then he realized he was lonely. Neither of these were foreign emotions to him, so he dismissed their pain as acceptable.

It hurt to move his eyes, and he was getting splitting pains on one side of his head. Well, he'd had headaches before.

His muscles began to tense, and his breathing sped up. He started seeing lights flicker in front of him, and then darkness swept across his line of sight as an invisible force pulled him downward. '_I need you!'_ he thought as hard as he could before he passed out.

He regained consciousness before his head even hit the pillow to see Draco and Andrell helping a bedraggled Harry into the room. "Well that didn't work," Harry said, easing back into his chair.

Severus felt better immediately. In fact, it didn't even hurt much to move. He realized he must be on diffusive potions for pain. _Just what I need, drugged up in front of my students._

'_I'm sorry I didn't even think, Professor.'_ Severus mentally kicked himself. Of course Harry had heard his thought. _'Is there anyone else we can call for you?'_

Severus thought for a moment about Minerva. He frequently met with her on Order business when Dumbledore was unavailable, and they had formed a working friendship over the years. But then he thought of the last time he had seen her. She had thrown walls of fire at him and told him he was a coward in front of the entire school. Though he knew her hatred was fed by lies, her words had hurt.

'_Professor McGonagall knows now what you sacrificed for all of us. _Nobody_ thinks you're a coward.' _

Though unasked for, Severus basked in the relief the gentle words provided for a moment before growing upset. _'Get out of my head!'_

'_You get out of mine!'_

He tried to build his mental shields again, but they were shredded down as he built them up. _'As you may have worked out by now, Potter, there is no one else.'_

'_There was no one else you got close to at school?' _The boy asked. His tone was not harsh or mocking, it was not even particularly inquisitive, just infuriatingly calm.

He couldn't help it. His mind betrayed him, immediately thinking about Charity Burbage. He liked the sweet, unassuming witch the moment he met her. She could be a comforting presence in the teacher's lounge without saying a word, or she could carry on a conversation for hours. She always seemed to know which Severus needed. Like Dumbledore, she had died begging for his help. He violently pushed the image out of his head before he started to hyperventilate.

'_I'm so sorry. I had no idea,' _ Harry said.

'_Dammit, boy, don't you know some thoughts are private?' _

'_I can't help it. You think loudly.'_

Severus tried to stop thinking, but moments later a flood of memories decided to punish this behavior. _'Either way, I don't need your pity.'_

'_This isn't pity. This is love.'_

That was definitely not the answer he had expected. He looked at Harry. Meeting his eyes immediately made him feel better, but only seemed to strengthen whatever connection they had. This was how he knew that the boy was not lying. It didn't feel like romantic love, just love for people in general, society as a whole, and him in particular for everything he had done. Harry was capable of so much love that Severus didn't know how he wasn't spontaneously combusting. Dumbledore was right all along. Foolish sappy Gryffindors! He had to break their visual connection. _'I might go into hyperglycemic shock.'_

'_I choose to take that as a compliment.'_

'_You would.' _His mind swirled again at the thought of Dumbledore. He did not want to go down that particular memory lane again. He frantically tried to build up his mental shields, feeling Harry looking on from his seat nearby. They still wouldn't hold. He poured all of the energy he could into them, willing them to stay up if only for a minute of respite. He grew angry and frustrated at his continued failure. His heart was filled with despair as he imagined living the rest of his life locked to Harry's mind, unable to stray more than a few feet from him.

He felt his magic starting to spin out of control as he lost his grip on sanity. He was going to go crazy. What if he could no longer keep anyone out of his mind? He wouldn't be able to retreat to the solitude that was his only solace for most of his life. Why couldn't he have just died? Even the vaunted control over his emotions that had saved his life for almost two decades as a spy was abandoning him. This wasn't happening. He couldn't push Potter out of his mind.

"THEN JUST STOP TRYING!" The boy screamed; his voice had risen for the first time since Severus had woken. It felt like a mental slap: exactly what he needed to break his anxious cycle of thought.

Once Harry knew he had his attention he continued more gently. "The greatest thing you ever taught me was to sit in contented silence." His piercing green eyes were painfully close, and his hand was pressed firmly on his chest. His voice sounded sad, almost pleading now, and he looked as if searching his face for an answer. "Aren't I also my mother's son, Severus?"

His chest constricted. There it was: the one thing that would forevermore make him move mountains, part seas, and throw himself in front of a killing curse if the occasion called for it. He simultaneously felt sadness and comfort when he thought of Lily. It sometimes felt like she was caring for him eve after she was gone. He nodded his head once.

Harry seemed satisfied with this and went back to his seat. Even Severus was impressed at the speed with which the youth was able to clear his mind. He may have been an abominable Occlumens, but he wasn't lying about sitting in silence.

Not to be outdone by his student, Severus followed keenly. Even as his own mind strayed back to thoughts of Lily, or the war, or Dumbledore, Harry sat patiently and let him regain his focus without comment or critique.

It was enjoyable and unnerving at the same time. Harry had been gone a year, but it seemed the boy had grown up about thirty. Maybe that was the unavoidable consequence of carrying out the task he was dealt.

He finally calmed his mind, and they both sat quietly waiting for the researchers to return with news.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This chapter's title is a lyric from "The Ghost Song" by The Doors.


	9. The Third War Begins

Chapter 9 — The Third War Begins

* * *

Harry remained seated, legs tucked up underneath him, at his spot near the window. He took slow meditative breaths but was otherwise motionless. Draco, Hermione, and Andrell returned half an hour later. The healer looked even more enamored with Hermione. He pulled a chair close to the bed for her to sit on and beamed at her fondly. Severus, whose bed had been propped up slightly, turned with more ease than before.

"We have good news and bad." She had taken the preferential chair and was looking on at Severus with kindness he was certain he did not deserve. "We found their case, and there were several successful methods they employed to manage their condition."

"I take it that's the good news," Harry said without opening his eyes.

"About the extent of it."

She started worrying at her lower lip. "What else did you find, Hermione?" Harry prompted her gently.

"Well, I don't know how else to say this. The court case severely downplayed their condition. I'm guessing some of their testimony was thrown out for some reason. It sounds like it was as bad as the two of you are experiencing."

"And the very bad news?"

"The only thing that seemed to help them was Occlumency. I have no doubt you've been trying—," Hermione abruptly said when she saw anger spark on his face, "but just you alone wouldn't work. It says they both had to master the subject to keep each other out."

Severus' heart sank. He doubted he would ever say the words "Potter" and "Master of Occlumency" in the same sentence.

"There's more. Their condition was definitely permanent, though as a result of it they ended up getting married and actually seemed to live quite happily… ever… after…," she trailed off, averting her gaze.

Harry opened his eyes now to smile at Severus, eyebrows dancing playfully. "Don't even think about it," the older man said. Harry held up his hands in surrender. "Miss Granger, were you able to deduce anything about a need for proximity?"

"Yes. They had the same problem at first, but that seemed to decrease and all but disappear with time. It also appears it was independent of their Occlumenical powers."

"What sort of time frame?"

"The first few days they were in constant contact. After that they stayed in the same town for a few weeks, and then the same country. Neither had a need to travel much further than that, and they did not want to unnecessarily push their limits. Like I said they ended up growing quite close."

"And did the distance seem to affect their… link?"

"It's noted that it felt the same when they were at a distance, but they didn't experiment with raising and lowering their mental barriers. Once they were stable, they were content to let it be. I imagine neither wanted to cause the other pain."

"I see," Severus said. He felt Harry observing in the back of his mind, letting Severus come to a conclusion for the both of them. "Was there anything else?"

"There is an extensive record of the case up until their deaths. The healer remained a healer and he worked right here at St. Mungo's. The rest of the record just indicates they were fine after everything got settled: better, even."

"It's settled then. I'll take another crack at Occlumency."

Severus sighed. "Given that our sanity depends on it, I certainly hope you could muster more than a 'crack,' Mr. Potter."

"It will be done," Harry said with finality. "Just tell me what to do."

"I already did."

"Professor, we are both different people now. I know I can do this; you just have to give me a chance."

"An inspired speech, Potter, but since I am already in your head I cannot try to force my way into your head. Someone else will have to teach you." Severus felt Harry grow slightly embarrassed, and then mildly frightened. _'And unless all of your actions over the last year have been on the right side of the law, it should be someone _sympathetic_ to our cause.'_

"I don't know who could." Harry's voice had lost its luster.

"I can do it," Draco said from his forgotten corner of the room.

"Though you show a natural talent in this subject, your training is incomplete, Draco. I'm not sure that would be wise."

"It's complete. Bellatrix taught me."

Severus saw Hermione wince at the name, and felt Harry's anger rise. He briefly wondered what had become of the lunatic, but Harry's brain provided a mental image of her being sanded by a pissed off Mrs. Weasley. It was enough to make Severus smile. "Very well, we should begin immediately. It would be best if the room were as vacant as possible." His eyes fell on Andrell.

"Right, of course! I'll be on call should you need me. Miss Granger would you like to join me in the lab? I'm working on a very promising nerve tonic."

"Oh I really must be going," she said, and his face fell. "Another time though."

"Of course." He scuddled out of the room.

Hermione stood up uncertainly. "I guess I'll be going too."

Draco put a hand on her waist, leaning in closer than was strictly necessary to speak softly into her ear. "Go home and get some rest. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She smiled, nodded, and stepped into the hallway to disapparate.

"Draco, are you cohabiting with Miss Granger?" Severus asked with raised eyebrow.

"I simply invited her to stay at the Manor as an alternative to sleeping in a tent," he said.

Severus looked at Harry. This was clearly not news to him, and he didn't seem to be upset by it. "The Manor? But she just apparated."

"I augmented the wards. Can we get started?" Severus' eyes grew wide, but he refrained from commenting—_for now._

"Whenever you're ready," Harry said, and cast a Muffliato spell at the door.

Severus gave him an indignant look; why had he ever left that damn book lying about? "I think it may be beneficial for you to see what I do to throw someone out of my mind, and how I build up barriers even if they won't stay up," he said with confidence. Not that he had ever taught a three-way lesson before, but years as a spy and teacher had taught him to always appear to know what he was doing, even if he had to bullshit his way through a lecture. He looked at Draco and nodded.

The boy pulled out his wand and pointed it at him. Severus barely had time to register what Draco was holding in his hand before the boy shouted, "_Legilimens!"_

He felt Draco enter his mind, which was sore from trying to push Harry out all day. Draco saw the last image he was thinking of: Albus falling dead off the Astronomy tower. Seeing the Elder Wand in the younger wizard's hand had immediately triggered it. Severus quickly identified Draco's probing spell and pushed at it. Unsurprisingly he met heavy resistance, but he had always been able to throw even the great Albus Dumbledore out of his mind when he wanted to and soon Draco was gone.

He then started to build his mental shields. This time he did not grow agitated as they unraveled, simply kept knitting them back up for a minute to show Harry how it was done.

"Don't worry about barriers yet. Just focus on pushing Draco out of your mind."

Draco stared at Harry, a look of determination on his face. Harry was completely serene, evidently having decided at some point that his rival was actually trustworthy.

"Hermione trusts him," Harry said to his unasked question. "And I trust her judgment."

And there it was: on the witch's word alone Harry had dropped years of animosity and rivalry like a rotten Bubotuber and put his complete faith in Draco.

It was just like Albus when he decided to trust someone, and even more intoxicating.

"Thanks Potter."

Harry nodded his head slightly. "Malfoy."

The words were the same, but they sounded different. In particular there was far less hissing and spitting around the "P."

"_Legilimens!"_ Draco said, wand pointed at Harry.

Severus watched Draco play merry cob with the brunette's mind. He swarmed carelessly from memory to memory, but where Severus had tried to extract the worst Harry had, Draco looked only for the best.

They all saw a memory of Harry sitting with his friends in what could only be the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione sat on a couch, Harry had his back to the fire, and they were all laughing.

Next there was a much younger Ron saying, "Happy Christmas, Harry," which was followed by Harry's surprise to see that he had gotten presents. Draco and Severus watched him open them with glee, even his Aunt and Uncle's fifty pence.

Harry's ecstatic face looked much the same as it swirled into him watching a massive snake slithering away from him, playfully nipping at people's feet. He recognized Petunia as the woman screaming nearby. The man could only be Harry's uncle. Draco abruptly cut the memory off when Vernon turned murderous eyes on Harry.

Severus watched these memories, watched Draco moving through them, and watched Harry trying to push him out all at the same time. He had to admit this was an exceptional way to teach Occlumency; he could now clearly see why Harry was failing.

"You have to grab hold of Draco's spell before you can push him out," Snape said.

Harry trounced furiously after the boy. Every time he seemed to catch Draco's spell it would slither away. "He's too slippery!"

"Indeed he is." He reached out to see if he could catch the blonde's probing spell himself, and he amazingly he succeeded. He mentally 'handed' control over to Harry, who was then able to push him out.

They all looked at each other. Harry was breathing heavily, though he was not agitated.

"That is a good start."

"Let's do it again!" Harry said, delighting in the praise.

"I think you should take a break." Severus hesitated.

"Seriously?" Images of Severus torturing him to the point of exhaustion during their first ill fated lessons came to mind, no doubt put there by Harry himself.

"If you think you're okay to continue then by all means..."

Harry nodded at Draco.

"_Legilimens."_

Harry kept Draco on the run and unable to pull up a specific memory. After a few minutes of struggle, Harry caught him and threw him out.

"You're not entirely hopeless after all," Severus drawled.

Harry smiled serenely while catching his breath. "I think that's enough for today. Severus is tired."

"Oh am I?" Suddenly, he felt extremely drained. His eyes narrowed as Harry let down his bed to lay flat. "It would appear you are right."

Harry and Draco watched over him as he was abruptly pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hermione woke to a gentle tapping on the door. She sprung up and opened it to let Draco in.

"Did I wake you?"

"I was just waking up," she lied. In truth, she was still in war mode, and sleeping at the Manor without Draco in the next room didn't help matters. She had slept in the clothes she was wearing (another outfit from Wikket), and she tried to smooth them out as he led her to the round table in the next room. "So how did it go?"

"We made progress, and they didn't kill each other. I'd say it was a success."

Hermione watched him as a grandfather clock near the fireplace rang out the time. It was already three in the afternoon. "I didn't realize how late it was. You were at it for quite some time."

"I stayed to do some more research."

"Oh? Did you find much?"

"I have a few pet theories, but nothing concrete."

"Ah, I see," Hermione grinned at her earlier words. She was sitting straight up in her chair and had one hand perched daintily over the other on the table. Draco was looking at her appraisingly.

"Knut for your thoughts?" he said.

"Oh Drake, only a Knut?"

"Whatever you'd like then." He waited patiently for her to answer.

"I just never thought much about ending up on this end of the war." She was staring at her hands, but her gaze was unfocused. "I feel lost."

"Ah," Draco said, "Having survivor's guilt?"

"Not exactly. I just feel like—what could be more exciting than being on the run, hunting down the most dangerous wizard ever in existence with the fate of the entire world on your shoulders? I feel like, no matter what I do, the rest of my life will be boring."

"Present company notwithstanding of course," he supplied for her, but held up his hand before she could speak. "First of all, you had two other very capable wizards to help share that burden." Coming from him, the reminder was chastising. "And second, I suspect you will continue to find interesting times for as long as you continue to associate with them."

"You do have a point there."

"And let me ask you, what was it about all this that you liked? Was it the danger? The uncertainty? The camaraderie? Was it this?" He grabbed her left arm where her scar was, almost painfully, and she quickly pulled it back.

"No of course not!"

His eyes were suddenly filled with a furious passion she did not understand. "Then what? Tell me."

Her brain whirled. "I liked solving the mystery," she said. "Like a puzzle. And knowing we were the only ones that could do it."

"So find a job where you can do that. The stakes may never be quite so high, but if that's what you truly loved about it you'll be happy."

His logic seemed correct, but she couldn't help doubt that she would ever be happy again.

"Please," he added. "I've seen too many people come home from battle only to turn self destructive, or worse, because they don't address their needs. I don't want to see that happen to you."

She simultaneously preened in the rays of his heartfelt concern and diminished like a photophobic, unable to shake her self-doubt. "Why?"

"Because I'm falling in love with you."

She blinked once: okay, not a dream. "Why?"

"Because you do things like ask 'why?' when someone tells you they're falling in love with you, silly girl!" He looked like he wanted to either shake some sense into her and ravish her. She reflected that she probably needed both, but otherwise didn't know how to feel. The proud witch wasn't finished being amazed that she and the ferret were actually getting along. Luckily, the arrival of yet another house elf she didn't know saved her from having to answer at that moment.

"Master Malfoy!" The elf croaked. His voice sounded strained, like he was talking through a kazoo. "Mister Harry Potter and Mister Ronald Weasley here to see you, sir. They say it is an emergency."

Hermione was suddenly filled with dread. She felt Draco tense, but his voice remained calm, "Bring them here."

The elf popped away, but did not return immediately. She assumed they were being escorted on foot. Draco put his hand on hers and squeezed it briefly. "Drake, I—"

"I didn't ask a question; I answered one. Stop thinking so much, baby doll." He gave her a pat on the head one might bestow upon the family dog. She giggled, but regained her composure as Harry and Ron walked briskly in.

"Your father escaped from Azkaban," Harry said the moment he entered the room.

"What? When?"

"A few hours ago from what they can tell. Evidently they thought he would be coming after me so I was informed straightaway." Harry and Ron were both looking at Draco. He was still seated but looked like he was out for blood, his fists clenched painfully.

"Er, you alright there?" Ron asked him. Harry looked at his best friend like he might have just gone crazy. Hermione was not overly shocked. Ever since they had brought Ginny back, the two men had some strange shaky truce going on that she didn't think she would ever understand.

Draco just shook his head.

"Do you have any idea what he might want?" Hermione prompted the statuesque blonde.

"Probably to flee the country, go into hiding. He'll come here to get gold or valuables to barter with." He looked up as a thought occurred to him. "It's not safe here. You have to leave." His eyes became afraid for the first time, looking at Hermione.

"We're not leaving you alone," Hermione said and watched his agitation grow.

"You stubborn Gryffindor! This isn't school! There's nothing here worth dying for!" he shouted at her as he stood up, knocking over his chair in the process.

"Gryffindor is more than a house; it's a way of life," she said proudly, hands on her hips. "Maybe if you knew what was worth dying for you wouldn't have lost everything you cared about!"

Draco was glaring daggers at her, clearly not used to his friends standing up to him. _Well you can get good and used to it,_ she thought to herself.

His face abruptly turned to concern as it concentrated on one thought. There was one thing left he cared about after all. "My mother," he whispered, and was turning to leave the room when they heard a high pitched scream.

He looked back at her. For a moment she saw his desperate plea to go and keep herself safe, just before he turned into a cloud of thick, black smoke that flew out the door and crashed through a window.

Hermione ran towards the sound of breaking glass. She didn't have to search long; he had broken through a window right near his bedroom that lead out to a large courtyard in the back of the manor. She called a charm that slowly let her down through the second floor window (now gaping hole) and started running the moment she hit the ground.

The scene she found was dreadful. Lucius, looking extremely unkempt, was standing with his wand drawn at one end of the courtyard while Draco stood, Elder Wand in hand, at the other. Narcissa Malfoy was standing slightly to the side but only a few feet from her son. Her back was to Hermione, and she saw that the witch she had so keenly avoided during her time at the estate was shaking.

Hermione heard Harry and Ron running up behind her. They stopped and the group slowly moved toward Draco. Lucius did not even notice them. His eyes looked crazed, and his head twitched as if trying to alleviate a transitory crick in his neck.

"So it's true," the man said, speaking directly to his son. "The all-powerful wand of so many legends has come to the Malfoy family."

_Crap,_ thought Hermione.

"Crap," hissed Harry.

No one had expected anyone to track it down that fast. How had he even managed it?

The older wizard's voice was eerily calm given his jerking head. It sounded exactly as it had that day he was talking down his nose at her parents in Flourish and Blotts. "Too bad it's come to the _wrong_ Malfoy." He raised his wand.

"No!" Narcissa screamed again, stepping in front of her son.

Lucius was taken aback. "You dare defy me woman? Step aside!" Narcissa did not move, or speak, or give any indication she had heard him. "Oh, I'm not going to hurt him!"

Did Lucius know what it took to claim ownership of the Elder Wand? Hermione wondered. He clearly didn't know his son was not its true wielder, but Draco had not made any indication otherwise.

"STEP ASIDE!" He began to stride towards her, and she drew her wand. He stopped. "How dare you point your wand at me! You swore to honor and obey!"

Narcissa's tiny voice rang true across the dewy grass. "Lucius you're not yourself. Come inside and let's discuss this." Hermione thought this was a bit of an odd request at this point, but he actually seemed to consider it. A moment later, however, he flicked his wand and Hermione saw the smallest hint of something shiny flying out of it towards his wife. She collapsed on the ground, struggling for breath as she clawed at her neck. Draco moved to help her but was immediately fully occupied with blocking the spells his father was sending at him.

Cold crept down Hermione's back as the witch writhed on the ground. She ran towards her, falling to her knees at the spot she had collapsed. There was a thin metal wire that was choking Narcissa and cutting into the woman's beautiful pale skin. Hermione pointed her wand at her, and Narcissa's eyes grew even wider. _"Finite Incantatum!"_ she cried, but the wire remained in place. Instead, the dark highlights in the witch's hair slowly faded to blonde. Had the situation been less dire, Hermione would have rolled her eyes.

Malfoy appeared to notice her for the first time at her words. He glanced at her and then back at Draco. His tirade of spells ceased, but his eyes grew more crazed and furious. "And what filth have you let into our home, you perfunctory child?!"

At those words, Ron sent a stinging hex at Malfoy. The man easily blocked it, but finally took notice of Ron and Harry who were standing nearby. He turned once again to Draco. "You are no son of mine!" he snarled.

His hate filled eyes turned back to Hermione, who was too busy trying to help the ailing Mrs. Malfoy to get her wand up in time. Luckily Draco had jumped in front of her. "_Protego!"_ His shield poured from his wand, absorbing the spell his father had sent at her. _"Expelliarmus!" _

Unfortunately Draco's father shielded from his disarming spell and the hate she saw turned murderous.

"_Ferrous Protego!" _Hermione whispered, and she and Narcissa were enveloped in a metal cage that protected them from the storm of spells flying around them. _"Finite Incantatum!" _she tried again. The bright red on Narcissa's lips faded to pale pink. Twice more Hermione tried and failed to help the struggling witch. How many cosmetic enchantments could one person use? She briskly took the wire, which had begun to draw blood, between her fingers. She pointed her wand at her arm, using it as a conduit: _"Engorgio!"_

The wire started to enlarge, and Narcissa was able to breathe again. Eventually the loop was loose enough that Hermione could slip it over her head. Her reunion with air served to drive panic into the woman's mind. She started crying hysterically, but got up to go to Draco. Hermione pulled her down, holding her firmly as they watched the battle rage around them._  
_

Though Malfoy sent vicious spells at his son, the latter only blocked or tried to disarm, apparently unwilling to mount an offensive against his father. Ron and Harry were not so disinclined and were sending back to Malfoy as good as he gave them.

Since he was only blocking spells, Draco had remained stationary. The other two were running, jumping, dodging, and ducking in between getting off spells of their own. Malfoy seemed to be ten times faster than them. He was blocking and on the offensive at the same time while remaining in place. Hermione grew increasingly uneasy as the man's superhuman abilities manifested.

"Enough!" he screamed. Ron and Harry froze where they were. Hermione looked to see Draco was panting heavily but uninjured. Malfoy had apparently let at least a few of Ron or Harry's spells through, as he had a nasty gash across his leg and a boil forming at the end of his nose. His vision zeroed in on his son.

"I feed you, clothe you, shelter you, and love you all of your life and this is how you repay me? Throw away the values this family has stood on for generations? And all for what? This filthy muggle?" Draco was silent. Hermione could only assume, based on the next curse he threw at him, that Lucius did not like whatever expression his son was making. The younger man was not fast enough to block it. _"Crucio!"_

Draco collapsed instantly, writing on the ground in pain. She remembered the spider fake Moody had tortured in their fourth year, and all she could think was _why isn't he screaming?_

Ron and Harry renewed their assault, but Lucius was still blocking them while casting the cruciatus curse. He had to be insane or drugged—or both—for she knew the cruciatus curse should have required all of his concentration. A full minute of her friends' best stunning, binding, blinding, and otherwise incapacitating spells did not faze Lucius. She knew Draco could not endure this much longer.

The once graceful man did not let up, apparently determined to torture his own son to insanity. Hermione took one look at Narcissa, who was sitting on the ground staring blankly into the distance, and dispelled the cage around them. "Stop it!" she screamed, hoping to draw the man's attention to her. It worked. His vicious eyes turned slowly to her and he raised his wand and gathered his power. _Son of a—_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione didn't feel any different. She had squeezed her eyes shut, but she thought she could still hear the ambient sounds of the grounds of the estate.

She cracked one eye open, then the other. Lucius Malfoy lay splayed out on the dark green grass. His eyes were staring lifelessly upwards. She looked at the two that remained standing. Ron was giving Harry a sad sort of look. Harry still had his wand pointed at the dead man and was staring in shock, his chest heaving.

It was Harry's killing curse she had heard, not Lucius'. Harry—whose heart was pure like gold with love that flowed like water, who would not use more than a disarming charm to save his own life, who used luck and tricks of fate so he would not have to kill Voldemort and tarnish his soul forever—had killed to save her life.

Harry turned and ran towards her. "Harry—" She didn't know what to say but wanted to cry for him.

"Yes we can all mourn my eternal soul later. Ron, go to St. Mungo's and request a coroner." Ron ran back into the manor to use the floo as Harry crouched down next to Draco.

"Malfoy can you hear me?" Harry said. Draco did not respond immediately. Parts of him were still twitching.

Hermione fell to her knees, stroking her fallen friend's silky soft hair. "Drake, please don't leave me." Panic had given way to despair, and she periodically choked out a sob. Harry left them, and she rested her head on his chest. The sound of his beating heart calmed her as she waited. A few minutes later, she felt his arm move to her back. Her head popped up, and she saw his gray eyes trying to focus on her. "You came back to me."

"I still owed you a Knut."

She helped him sit up, and they held each other until Harry called for her. Draco stood up shakily with her assistance. His movements were stiff and jerky, but his face didn't betray any pain. They eventually reached Harry, who was sitting with Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman was completely still and staring across the field. Hermione blocked her view of her now dead husband, but the woman still didn't move. She put her hands on the older woman's neck to heal the angry red mark the wire had left. The witch didn't even flinch.

"Mother?" Draco said quietly, crouching down in front of her. "It's okay; we're safe now." His words had no effect on her. A moment later he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face: no reaction. He tried to help her stand up, but she kept collapsing back to her seated position on the ground. "I think she's catatonic."

Harry looked at Hermione before raising his wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A brilliant blue light shot out of its tip and coalesced into Harry's Patronus. It looked at Harry intently, stretching its nose out towards him as if asking to be petted. "Ron, request a mental health consult as well," Harry said, and the stag went bounding off through the forest like heat lightning dancing in the sky.

"Your Patronus is a stag?" Draco's ghost of a voice reflected surprise.

"Yes, why?"

"Just curious."

They sat in awkward silence, all watching Narcissa Malfoy for any spark of sanity. Ron arrived with a group of people in white robes, and another healer in green she hadn't seen before. She secretly wished they had sent Andrell to help. The man knew so much about them all, and lives could be lost during extensive explanations.

"I have to go. Severus is awake," Harry said and abruptly shot off across the greens.

The healer started performing tests on Narcissa, who remained rigid and unresponsive.

The group that had come to tend to Malfoy had him on a stretcher within moments. A man who was clearly making a report took notice of the ripped fabric over his chest. He cut his tattered shirt away and she could hear the collective noises of shock when everyone saw the tell-tale mark above his heart. Hermione had seen it too. The characteristic lightning shaped scar mirrored the wand movements used to cast only one spell: the killing curse. At least Harry had the sense to aim at the man's center of mass and not his bloody forehead.

They got the body covered and were taking it away. Hermione dreaded what was to come; she knew it was legal to use the curse in life or death situations. Harry would still have to explain his actions, and she didn't want him to have to go through that.

Sighing, she turned back to the trio seated near her. Draco only had eyes for his mother, and she only had eyes for—whatever it was her unfocused gaze saw. The healer continued to wave a wand at Narcissa. The wand was clear and had a blue stripe painted onto it. Hermione thought she recognized this as the wand Andrell had used on Snape the first night he was there, and then she saw a regular wooden wand in the healer's other hand. "What's that?" She pointed at the blue striped wand.

"This is a diagnostic wand. It calls a hundred spells at once so I don't have to use them one by one. She needs to be admitted. Her treatment could take some time," the healer said after completing her tests.

Draco spoke with panic. "No, she should stay here. She doesn't feel comfortable outside the Manor."

The healer turned kind eyes on him. "Son, you haven't lost your mother, she's just lost her way. I know you want to help her, but you can't. I promise I will do everything I can for her."

With tears in his eyes, he shook his head. "At least come and look at our facilities, and let me tell you about our program. It really is an amazing place, or I wouldn't be working there.

Draco fixed Hermione with a conflicted look. She nodded her encouragement.

"Alright."

They got up. The healer let Draco try to move his mother alone at first, probably with the intent of showing him how difficult it would be to care for her on his own. She then conjured a stretcher and helped him lay her in it. Narcissa was still resisting being moved. Her new caretaker pulled out a small vial and tipped it down her throat. She started to relax, and finally laid flat on the stretcher.

"Feel up to taking us to St. Mungo's?" the healer said brightly, trying to bring Draco out of his stupor. "Fourth floor patient intake."

"I don't know," Draco said. Hermione gently pushed him away from the stretcher, which she grabbed hold of along with Narcissa's hand. She turned on the spot and apparated herself and the ill woman to St. Mungo's. Now Draco could follow with the healer or take the long way, but she was tired of standing in the cold.

The fourth floor was quieter than it had been in the last week. She floated the stretcher near the desk, suddenly realizing she did not even know the name of the healer that had been helping them. Luckily Draco did not decide to take the long way. He and the healer popped into existence where she had been standing a moment before.

"Evening, Maude, got another one for us?" the receptionist at the desk asked. The healer motioned for her to be quiet as she escorted them towards the back. She had Hermione bring the stretcher into the first exam room and transferred Narcissa to the bed there. The potion she had given her had knocked her out cold. She shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness, and closed the door as they left.

Maude gave them a tour of the facilities. She showed them an unoccupied patient room, which Hermione thought looked very cozy. Draco blanched at the sight of it. They followed the green robes into a small room with cooking facilities and a few round tables with chairs. She also showed them the group session room, and a common room where several patients were playing games or reading. None of them were screaming in psychosis or bouncing off the walls. Hermione thought that was encouraging.

They returned to Narcissa's room, pausing outside so the healer could talk to them. "We will let her sleep, then observe her to see if she comes out of this state on her own. She's not a danger to herself so potions are a last resort; they are safe but very powerful and quite shocking to the body. But we will use them if she doesn't show more awareness within twenty-four hours. You have to understand this is for the best. She needs constant medical supervision right now. Catatonia is a very serious condition."

Draco nodded. "And after she's herself?"

"Talk therapy to find out what caused this, and how to prevent it from happening. Possibly more potions if they will help. These wouldn't be as strong, though." The healer considered them both. Draco was not meeting her eyes. "It would help if you could tell us what happened. Is she prone to mental instability?"

"Yes," he said.

"For how long?"

"As long as I can remember."

Hermione, who had been holding his hand since he arrived, tightened her grip.

"And what happened tonight that sent her over the edge?" The healer spoke in hushed tones, though there was no one nearby. The receptionist had presumably gone to run some errand.

Draco didn't answer.

"I know your father died," Maude prompted him gently. "Do you think that was it?"

He still didn't answer, so Hermione spoke up. "His father was trying to kill Mrs. Malfoy and then started to torture Draco. Our friend killed him to save my life." She tried to remember the details of the event. "I believe it was once Lucius cast the cruciatus curse on Draco that Narcissa started to become so unresponsive."

Maude's head snapped back to look at Draco the moment she mentioned the curse. "The cruciatus curse?" she hissed. Draco eventually nodded. "Son, we should have someone look at you too."

"I'm fine," he said immediately.

Maude gave him a look that screamed 'liar liar pants on fire,' but Draco was not looking at her to receive it. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw another healer approaching from the hallway she knew led to Professor Snape's room.

"My, my we lead an exciting life," Andrell said.

Hermione was relieved to hear that voice. It still held adoration, but he had always remained professional, and seeing him felt like seeing an old friend at the end of a difficult journey. "You have no idea."

Andrell took one look at Draco and put his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. "In the name of science, I demand this boy!" he said, then paused to look at Maude, "Er, unless he has any paperwork to fill out?"

"It can wait."

Hermione reluctantly let go of Draco's hand as he was escorted off. She was confident that Andrell would treat and take care of Draco, possibly without the younger man even noticing.

Maude was sizing her up. "You know Andrell?"

"He's treating our friend, Professor Severus Snape. He's also on this floor."

"You know Severus Snape?"

"Yes." She grew uncomfortable as Maude continued to stare at her. "I think I'll just go and check on him now, unless you need me for anything else?"

"There is some paperwork; any family member can complete it."

"I'm not family."

"Oh." Maude, who was confidently in her element until Andrell had showed up, now fidgeted uncomfortably.

Very well, off you go then."

Hermione nodded and turned around, walking with purpose to the end of the hall to check on Harry and their erstwhile Professor. She glanced in the rooms as she went, trying to see where Andrell had taken Draco, but had no luck. Here an hour ago she had been complaining that her life might get boring. Now Draco had lost his father, been tortured, and had his mother go crazy.

She opened the door to Snape's quarters slowly, immediately seeing that it was dark. Harry held one finger up to his lips. She nodded, and took a seat in silence. She scribbled a note to Harry asking if he was okay. He wrote back, "talk later."

She transfigured one of the rigid chairs in the room to look like Harry's recliner. It was not terribly comfortable, but she lay back, closed her eyes, and drove toward a fitful sleep with a sigh.


	10. In the Family Name

Chapter 10 — In the Family Name

* * *

Severus woke and sat up with a start, immediately regretting it. Pain pounded at him everywhere and he closed his eyes until it ebbed. He tried to lower himself back onto his bed, but quickly realized it was too painful. He tried a bit of wandless magic to raise his bed up to him, but the pain caused by moving his arm made him freeze again. _Gah, I'm pathetic._

"No, you've been injured. There's a difference," Harry whispered as he moved to prop the bed up and help Severus lay down.

"Why are we whispering?" he asked. Harry nodded his head across the room, where Hermione was sleeping in a chair. "What is this, a hotel?"

"We had a bad day, and she didn't want to be alone," Harry said. Severus couldn't glean any information of what this 'bad day' had entailed from Harry's thoughts. He was impressed in spite of himself.

"I see." He tried to feign indifference, adjusting his blankets, examining his cuticles, and drumming on the bed's side support while gazing out the window. Eventually he gave in. "And what was so bad about this day, might I ask?"

He could tell from Harry's sudden apprehension that something had indeed gone terribly wrong. The first image he caught confirmed this: Lucius, of all people, staring at him with his wand drawn. The barely sane look on his old friend's face chilled Severus to the bone. It only got worse. Next he saw Cissy collapsing to the ground in front of a horrified Draco, apparently unable to breathe. The images overflowed from Harry then, along with thoughts, feelings, and sounds.

Severus was slightly more prepared to be on the receiving end of Harry's stream of consciousness. It was nearly overwhelming, but he was able to process everything he saw and felt. The last feeling, which stayed with Harry as an ever-present ache in his heart, was fear. Harry had tried to be brave for his friends, but he really was terrified that he had defiled his soul forever by killing Lucius.

If only Dumbledore were here; curse the man for having the gall to go and die! He tried to think of something comforting to say, but his thoughts always strayed back to one: how useful could any words of comfort be coming from a Death Eater?

_'Former Death Eater.'_ Before he could retort, Harry shook his head minutely, and then Severus heard Hermione waking up next to him.

"Oh I'm sorry! I only meant to close my eyes a moment!" Hermione jumped up like the chair had bitten her and changed it back to its original shape.

"It's fine Hermione," Harry said.

"How are you?" She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking between Harry and himself.

Harry looked at her through squinted eyes. "We're doing alright. How is Malfoy?"

"Oh please don't call him that!"

"Amazing bouncing ferret?"

"Whatever, just not Malfoy. I hear that name and I think of his father. And I have no idea how he is. I haven't seen him."

"How is Cissy?" Severus asked.

"Are you two close?" The witch sat down delicately.

"Yes but you don't need to sugarcoat. I assure you it won't help anyone."

"She was still completely unreachable when the healer came. She gave her a sleeping potion, and they will know more when she wakes up."

"Which sleeping potion? How long will she be unconscious?"

"Er, I'm not sure. I didn't ask."

Severus felt his patience dwindle. For an insufferable know-it-all she knew precious little about the things that really mattered. Any further thought was interrupted by a mental slap upside the head from Harry. _'Ow!'_

'_Be nice!'_

"I'd like to speak with the healer assigned to her case," he said as pleasantly as he could through clenched teeth.

Hermione didn't reply. She got up quickly and left the room. Harry followed up his mental slap with an actual slap upside the head. "Will you stop that?!"

"You have no idea what she's done for you and what she's been through in the last few days alone! You could be a little nicer."

"Have you forgotten that I'm your cruel, sinister potions professor? I don't do nice!"

"You're not our professor anymore. I'll slap some nice into you yet." Harry was hovering mere inches from his face. He spoke with a calm intensity he had only seen in the boy's mother before now. It didn't help that he was seeing her eyes too. Before he could stop it, an image from a distinctly adult fantasy involving Lily flitted to the front of his mind. "Augh!" Harry said, nearly gagging as he staggered backwards.

Severus quickly quashed the vision. "It may surprise you to learn that I am human too," he said.

"I know you are, but that's my mother."

"You didn't even know her."

"Thanks for the reminder." Harry sat on the edge of the bed, still holding his stomach. Severus was saved from having to reply by Hermione's return.

"She'll be here in a minute. Andrell is coming too."

Sure enough a moment later his robust healer strode through the door, a nurse in tow. "Well well, how is our patient doing today?" He said, stopping in front of his bed.

"You asked me that earlier."

"Oh good, our memory is intact then!"

The nurse presented him with a row of potions which he took without question, and Andrell waved one of his curious clear wands at him. Hermione was watching his hand move like a dog eying a treat.

"You'll down a handful of potions without asking what they are but insist on knowing everything about Mrs. Malfoy's treatment?"

Severus glared at Harry. "Did you learn nothing in my class?"

Harry held out his hand with thumb and pointer finger held very close together. "Leeeetle bit."

"I can identify these by sight and smell alone. If by some miracle there was something I didn't recognize, I would ask."

"Oh right. Good thinking." Harry nodded smartly.

"What is that?" Hermione asked, indicating the wand Andrell had just set down. Severus had been wondering about the object himself.

"It's a diagnostic wand. It holds spells for us to use virtually all at once. Lifesaver really." He twirled it around like a baton. Severus was intrigued, as he had never heard of such a thing. Evidently so was the witch.

"That's curious. Have you been using them for long?"

"No, just a few years. Intern of mine came up with the idea. Polly made hundreds before she left. Brilliant girl, wish I could have held onto her. You remind me a bit of her, actually."

"Brilliant," Hermione echoed.

"Well you are coming along well. I'm curious about the incident at the Manor though. I understand Harry was away from you for quite some time. Did you feel any pain?"

Severus didn't even remember the boy being gone, but knew he had to have been there based on the memories he had seen.

"Severus was asleep. I felt—strained—but not unbearably so. I was pretty much going on adrenaline at that point anyway."

Andrell nodded. "Well that is excellent news!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "Just as soon as you can keep each other out of your own minds, you should be able to sleep in your own bed, Harry!"

Severus was surprised when Harry didn't jump for joy at this pronouncement. In fact, he seemed to grow remorseful and withdraw.

"On that note, I've sent Draco home for the day. He needed some time alone." Hermione's head perked up at the mention of Draco's name. "Though I'm sure a visit from you later would be well received, Miss Granger. In the mean time, I am not above begging for your take on some of my research."

Hermione blushed and nodded before following him out, Andrell already talking excitedly to her.

Severus and Harry sat staring at each other. They had had little time alone when one of them was not also asleep, and it was proving to be an awkward experience. "So," Harry said, "Come here often?"

"No of course not. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Professor Snape?" A woman called into the room from the door which she had barely cracked open.

"Enter."

"I'm Healer Maude. I'm in charge of Narcissa Malfoy's case." She shook hands with both men in the room. "I understand you have some questions for me."

"Yes," Severus hissed.

"Please sit down." Harry said kindly, pulling up a chair for her.

"Thank you I'll stand. I want you to understand that her son has expressly authorized me to speak with you about his mother's case, otherwise I would not be able to discuss this with you at all."

_What does she want me to do, kiss her feet?_ Severus thought impatiently.

'_Ahem! Nice!'_ Harry thought back at him.

'_Get out of my head!'_

'_You get out of mine!'_

The healer was looking at them uncomfortably. "Of course."

"And you are?" The healer looked at Harry.

"Oh, I'm Harry, ma'am. Harry Potter."

Her eyes immediately darted to his forehead. "So you are. And your relationship to Mrs. Malfoy?"

Severus interrupted anything Harry might have to say. "It's complicated, but Harry cannot leave my side and would find out anything I'm thinking anyway. He is also capable of the utmost discretion."

"Very well then. When I arrived at Malfoy Manor Narcissa was non-responsive and resisted being moved. I administered Sentinel's Sleep in order to move her safely to St. Mungo's."

"What dosage?"

"Full dosage: eighty-seven micro-Liters. She was not a danger to herself, so when she wakes tonight we will observe her before trying other methods to bring her out of her current state. Andrell has obviously not discussed the nature of your condition with me, but if he says it's alright you are welcome to be there."

"I would like that."

"Very well, I will speak with him. Do you have any other questions for me?"

"No," he said and waived her away dismissively.

"Thank you!" Harry called to the woman's back. "What happened to nice?"

"Nice was a figment of your imagination. I'm grumpy dammit!"

"Okay fine. Would you care to translate that conversation to plain English?"

Severus suspected he was just trying to prevent him from wallowing, but if Harry asked for a lecture he would certainly get one. "Sentinel's Sleep is a sleeping potion—"

"Like dreamless sleep?"

"Yes and no. Dreamless sleep may sound nice, but we use dreams to sort through everything that's happened to us during the day. We suppress what our brain deems insignificant and catalog anything that might be useful for easy access. If one doesn't dream for too long they will become easily confused and agitated, perhaps even hallucinate, and their memory will fail them.

"Nightmares may be unpleasant, but they are vital. They allow us to process our anxieties so that they don't overwhelm us when we are awake. This potion limits the time spent in each phase of sleep to that which is statistically optimal. It's also quite useful in that it ensures the sleeper doesn't remember his or her dreams, nor physically react adversely to them while they are asleep.

"The dosage is based on weight and must be meted out very precisely. At full dosage, one will sleep about eight hours. At half dosage one would sleep four hours, a quarter dosage two hours. That is the smallest it's broken up into."

Harry watched him intently while he spoke, and Severus could practically see his brain soaking up the knowledge. His lack of pain and a captive audience made him feel content for the first time in ages.

"Why is it called Sentinel's Sleep?" Harry asked when the older man did not continue.

"It was invented during a time of civil unrest in Istanbul. Several watches were understaffed and the local potioneer created it so that the sentinels could get as restful a sleep as possible when they only had a few hours downtime."

"I sure could have used that fifth year," Harry said with a snort.

"Perhaps, but it's extremely difficult and expensive to make, and though premature awakening is nearly impossible it can cause long term brain damage. Furthermore, it can be highly addictive and completely lethal if brewed incorrectly."

"Yeesh."

"Indeed. Yeesh."

Harry laughed at Severus' repetition of the noise. The corner of the older man's mouth twitched briefly, but otherwise he did not permit himself to join in the revelry. _'Why do you make everything so hard on yourself?'_

Severus thought a moment, but could come up with no other answer then _I don't deserve to be happy_ and he certainly didn't want to tell Harry that. _'What do you want me to do, dance around naked with a tambourine?'_

"Well that would be a start, and of course you deserve to be happy."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Get out of my head!"

'_You get out of mine!' _

They both cleared their thoughts.

Existing in this state was much easier but meant they could not do much else.

"You're getting very sleepy," Harry said. Severus had learned not to contradict the boy's sixth sense for sleepiness, though how he knew Severus was about to pass out before he himself knew was beyond him.

"Amerfuggle wagoo," Severus mumbled, already half in dreamland.

"Quite right."

* * *

Hermione bade farewell to Andrell after spending hours in his lab. She had to admit she was impressed. His "nerve tonic" turned out to be a groundbreaking potion he was working on to reverse the damaged caused by long term exposure to the cruciatus curse. After the war there were more and more people in need of such treatment.

In between stepping out to check on patients, the healer spoke at length about other projects he was working on, all of which intrigued Hermione from the start. He evidently had a thing for younger witches as, from how he spoke of her, Hermione gathered that the man had been involved with his former intern. However, he remained pleasant but professional and listened to her input, so Hermione found she rather enjoyed his company.

The witch poked her head in to check on Harry before she left for the night. It was quite late, but he was still awake and gave her a brief thumbs-up over his sleeping charge. She waved goodbye and shut the door tightly before disapparating to the manor.

Now that Narcissa was away there was no reason for her to continue to take Draco's bed, but for some reason the idea of sleeping farther away from him was even more frightening than before. Still, she had to find Draco before she could find out what he wanted to do, so she slowly let herself into his sitting his room. There were no lights on, but a generous helping of moonlight shone in through the open window. Draco was once again in the circular bed which was tucked in the corner just to the right of the entrance.

Hermione heard a faint whimper and automatically sat down with the fitful slumberer, rubbing his arm until his breathing returned to normal. She watched his angelic face periodically contort with pain, and continued to sooth him back to a restful sleep every time he needed it. Eventually the witch pulled up an over-sized chair.

She was just starting to doze off when she thought she heard a faint whisper. After breathing as quietly as she could for several minutes she was about to conclude it was her imagination until she heard Draco speak into the clear quiet night: "Hermione," he whispered, "please stay with me."

After a moment of hesitation she went to lay on top of the covers next to Draco, seeing faint tear tracks down his face. "Shh it's okay. I'm here." She held him tightly. He fell asleep as she was arguing with herself. _This is nothing I wouldn't do for Ron or Harry! _

Ever since Draco's confession she had been trying to sort out her feelings. Of course he was undeniably attractive in mind and body, and of course she had grown incredibly fond of him in the last few days, but she had no closure with Ron. She was certain she could never completely trust the temperamental redhead again, but she hadn't told him that, and he deserved at least that much. Besides she was just trying to comfort a friend. _Dammit he said please!_

Eventually she was able to fall asleep. When she woke just before dawn it was to discover that someone had kicked the covers off the bed. Her arm was just barely touching Draco's. The temperature had dropped overnight and the open window was making her shiver. Apparently still asleep, Draco turned on his side to face her and put his arm on her lower back, pulling her tightly against him.

Hermione forgot to breathe. She felt a tightness in her chest and an aching warmth in her groin that made her whimper. Her head swam with desire, and she clamped her eyes shut before she did anything stupid.

She willed herself to relax, trying to enjoy the feeling of his proximity on a platonic level. It mostly worked. When he woke his grey eyes held so much confusion and sadness that her desire evaporated in an instant, replaced again by concern. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I just—you were—I didn't—nevermind."

He smiled at her, kissed her forehead, and got up to head to the bathroom.

She stayed in his _other_ bed while he was away, rolling over to lay in the warm spot he had vacated and fanning her hand out on the sheet right next to her face. She inhaled the scent still lingering on the sheets.

She reluctantly sat up when he returned and sat down with her. She tried to pull her head together. If she was going to help him get through whatever was plaguing him, Draco needed to come before any of her useless confusing feelings.

"How are you?" she asked.

He was looking down at his finger which was tracing figure eights on the bed. "Worried for my mother."

"Would you like to see her today? She should be awake now."

He nodded.

"Andrell said I should warn you: they'll want you to make funeral arrangements for—"

"Let him get eaten by wolves for all I care," Draco snapped.

Andrell had also warned her to expect that answer.

"Is that really what you want? What your mother would want?"

She let him mull that over a moment before continuing. "Drake your father was very ill and possibly heavily drugged when he—did that to you."

"He was always a fan of Peruvian Blue."

"From what you told me he was using heavily when Voldemort was staying with your family. When he was sent to Azkaban he would have been going through excruciating withdrawal: hallucinations, mental confusion, severe agitation... And then using again when he got out—it's possible he was not even sane. I'm surprised he was even able to grasp onto the concept that you had the Elder Wand, though how he found out—"

"My mother told him. She had gone to visit. It's the only way he could have known."

Hermione nodded sadly. No wonder the woman had gone crazy. "Anyway, you were proud at one time to be your father's son. He must have meant something to you then. Mourn the loss of _that_ man if nothing else, and let your mother mourn too."

"Why do you defend him? I don't understand you."

She scooted closer to him before she spoke. "I just want to make sure you and your mother have the chance to mourn. You only put him in the ground once, and I don't want to take the chance you might regret not doing it in twenty years.

Draco looked doubtful but agreed.

Hermione showered and dressed quickly, and they had breakfast in silence. Her furtive glances didn't notice a change in his demeanor, and they got up in unison to go to the hospital when a house elf's sudden arrival stopped them.

"Master Malfoy you have a visitor at the front door!" the kazoo-elf huffed. She made a mental note to find out the tiny creature's name.

Draco looked mildly alarmed. He gave her a deeply meaningful look that was completely lost on her. He held out his hand and escorted her through the hallways at a brisk pace. The foyer was surprisingly bright. She had never seen it before, and she realized she had never heard of anyone arriving at the Manor through the front entrance.

The ornate door swung open to reveal a tall man with dark wavy hair and a long angular face. He looked to be in his early twenties. The sun had started to peak through the clouds, which gave his tanned skin a surreal back-lit glow. He had a denim backpack thrown over one shoulder, and he was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

"You must be Draco! I'm your cousin from California." The man, who had the enthusiasm and accent to match, thrust out his hand towards her stunned companion. The blonde shook it uncertainly. "My name is Castor—Castor Riddle."


	11. Grave Reconnaissance

Chapter 11 — Grave Reconnaissance

* * *

"You must be Draco! I'm your cousin from California." The man, who had the enthusiasm and accent to match, thrust his hand towards her stunned companion. The blonde shook it uncertainly. "My name is Castor—Castor Riddle."

A string of explicatives flew through Hermione's head. Draco just stared at him with wide eyes. She managed to recover first. "Er—won't you come in?"

"Oh thanks!" Castor said while flip-flopping his way into the entry, side stepping a still speechless Draco. Hermione tugged him inside and closed the door. "Sweet digs, man!" Castor was looking curiously down the hallways.

Hermione elbowed Draco. "Thank you."

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione extended her hand, which the wizard shook with a bob of his head.

"Nice ta meet ya! Are you family too?"

"No, I'm a friend of Draco's. I didn't even know he had a cousin." She easily kept her tone cheerful since Castor maintained the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter in a new cache.

"Well I didn't know I had a cousin either until I got the letter!"

"Letter?" Draco finally spoke.

"Yeah! From my father—my birth father—to be sent to me when he died. Sorry if you were fond of him. I never knew the guy." Castor spoke while rummaging in his bag then producing said letter. "I just had to come here and meet you all. I'm awfully jet lagged though!"

"Jet lagged?" Draco asked.

"Oh! I forgot. Pure-bloods rule, death to muggles and all that. Ehhh." He made a cross with his two index fingers, screwed up his face, and leaned away from them. "I'm not fond of apparating so I took a plane… and a bus, and another bus, and a cab… boy you guys are hard to find."

"You took a plane?"

"Castor means to say he is tired from his trip. Perhaps we should prepare accommodations for his stay," Hermione told Draco. "You will be staying with us, of course?"

"Dude that would be awesome!"

"Oh, right. Bear!" The kazoo-elf popped up in front of Draco.

Castor nearly fell over in shock. "HOLYHELL!" Evidently they don't have house elves in America.

"Will you prepare the red room for Master Riddle?" Bear bowed respectfully and disapparated.

Their guest mouthed the words "Master Riddle" to himself with delight.

Draco gestured down the center hallway she knew led to a staircase. He escorted Hermione and spoke with Castor who was walking on his other. "You seem to have brought the weather with you," Draco said, evidently deciding small talk was his safest bet.

"I do that a lot! It's like I never leave home," the man said whimsically.

"Where in California are you from, Castor?" Hermione asked.

"San Diego: best of the best in the west."

"Oh I've heard it's lovely there."

"That's an understatement! Never had a reason ta leave until I heard about you all."

"You've never left the States?" They had reached the third floor and turned down a dark corridor.

"Not until now! Sure is quiet here. Where is everyone?"

"They're out," Draco said rather shortly.

They walked in silence to the far end of the Manor. The red room was aptly named. Even the spines of the books in the glass-inlay cases were some shade of red.

"Make yourself at home. Bear will assist you should you want for anything while you are here," Draco said stiffly. "Just call his name."

"Bear!" Castor yelled, and the house elf appeared with a loud crack on the bed in front of him. "Holy shit it worked!"

Draco and Hermione exchanged glances. "We have a few errands to run, but we'll try to be back soon."

Castor nodded his head. "Thanks man! Great ta meet ya both!" He shook their hands again and they left him alone to explore his newfound crimson haven.

After they were an appreciable distance from the door, Draco called Bear. The house elf eagerly received his orders to keep an eye on their guest and to get Draco if he saw anything out of the ordinary.

Apprehension clearly lit his features as he held out his hand to her and apparated them to St. Mungo's.

* * *

"Miss Lovegood I really think they are gone now."

Severus tried to hold his temper while the blonde witch danced around the room spraying all of the corners for frocknuts—whatever those were.

As word of Severus' role in the war had happened spread, a steady flow of gifts from admirers started arriving. Certain of Harry's friends took it upon themselves to deliver their well wishes in person, and the infernal boy had threatened to sing the Wierd Sisters to him for lullabies if he wasn't civil to them.

"Just one more!" she said. His room now smelled vaguely like rotten cabbage mixed with fall. "Okay I'm finished!"

"How kind of you."

Harry and Ron were sitting at the round table in the room talking about the most recent massacre of the Hollyhead Harpies by the Chudley Cannons. Due to Draco's absence, Harry's training had not progressed. Every time he tried to teach the younger man himself, Severus would get vertigo and have to stop, so he sat hearing Harry's thoughts, the boys' conversations, and Luna's singsong musings all at the same time.

He was able to keep his own thoughts well-schooled, and Harry had a one track mind when it came to Quidditch, so the morning was not altogether unpleasant. If only he wasn't twice as old as any of his companions perhaps he wouldn't feel so profoundly out of place.

'_And here I thought I was helping you stave off loneliness.'_

Severus ignored Harry's unwarranted comment, but the strange tiny blue dragon that had taken up residence on his shoulder let out a plume of smoke as it bobbed its head. Luna's pet had immediately hopped and flapped his way over to Severus when she came over to give him and Harry a hug.

"He can sense feelings; he thinks you are lonely," Luna had whispered to him with a knowing wink.

Severus had to admit he was immediately fond of Blue, and once Luna finished tidying up his room and sat down on his bed she was more than happy to tell him all about the curious creature.

The two sets of conversations were punctuated by the arrival of Draco and Hermione who both looked like they had seen a ghost.

Luna hopped up to give them both a hug before announcing, "You've both just had an experience."

Draco looked at everyone in the room. When his eyes fell on Severus he said: "Apparently I have a twenty-one year old cousin from California. He showed up on my doorstep this morning with a letter to be delivered upon his father's death. His name is Castor Riddle."

Severus' heart spammed as everyone turned to look at him. "I knew nothing about this," he said. "You have reason to believe his story?"

Draco took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "He is definitely family. The wards recognized him as such. He could not have gotten past the front gate alone otherwise."

"But do you think he could really be—a Riddle?" Harry's gulp was audible from across the room, and the young group once again looked to Severus for an answer.

"I don't know, but I suppose it's possible."

"Who would want to go to bed with _that_?" Ron bit out, his disgust palpable.

"Who says they went willingly?" Draco asked.

"And carried a baby to term? I don't think that's likely." The redhead still sat at the table, periodically looking at Harry.

"Yes because we don't know anyone that was so feverishly devoted to Voldemort as to border on worshiping him as a god." Hermione unconsciously clutched at her left arm as she spoke.

"Bellatrix?" Luna's questioning tone was soft as she scratched under Blue's chin. He had evidently felt the tension rise in the room and frantically sought shelter in his mummy's lap.

Ron's next words surprised everyone. "Well, it would make sense, especially for a bloke so obsessed with contingency planning. I mean, what's the next best thing to immortality?" He paused, looking as if they should all be shouting out the answer. "Children! Look, Voldemort was the _last_ heir of Slytherin. What if the whole immortality thing didn't work out for him? Would he really take the chance of letting the Slytherin line die out?"

Severus nodded. "Mister Weasley is correct. I don't know why I never thought of it before."

"Well even if he had procreated, someone would have known about it. If Bellatrix was pregnant, someone would have seen, right? Certainly her husband wouldn't approve?" Harry asked the room.

"People have done far more heinous things in service of the Dark Lord than let another man go to bed with their wife," Severus said.

"My mother would probably know. I do remember her saying no one noticed she was pregnant until a few months before I was due." Draco's voice sounded hollow.

"And if she was showing only slightly it would be easy to hide. And when she did need to disappear, if the Dark Lord said she was on a mission, no one would have even questioned it."

"You mother might still know something, or have suspected. She is her sister," Hermione said.

Draco nodded. "I'll ask her when I can speak with her."

"I can also perform a test to determine if Bellatrix is indeed Castor's mother. I'll just need a bit of his hair." The girl's normally bossy voice was apprehensive.

"Well you're good at stealing people's hair, Hermione. You go get it." Harry winked at her.

"What I don't get is why was Castor sent away? Why wouldn't Voldemort parade around his heir?" Ron asked.

"It would have made him a target too," Draco said.

"More likely because he would not have wanted to share power. Castor was only to find out his lineage if Voldemort died," Severus pointed out.

Blue was now completely hiding under Luna's skirt. He appeared to be ticking her, since the witch periodically squeaked as she spoke: "Harry you said that Voldemort was—eek!—ashamed of his family name. So if he—heehee—really wanted to hide his heir, what is the last—ooh—surname in the world anyone would think he'd use?"

"Riddle," Harry answered while nodding his agreement.

"And where is the—heeheehee—absolute last place in the world anyone would think he'd send him?"

"America," they all answered in unison.

"Oh Blue stop that!" She yanked the tiny dragon out from under her skirt, placing him on her shoulder where he promptly hid in her hair.

"Alright but why's he here? To finish dear old dad's noble work?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so." Hermione pulled an antiquated piece of parchment from a small bag on her hip and passed it to him. "The letter he received doesn't say much, and I think it was the first correspondence he'd had from—his father."

Severus unfolded the stiff paper. He recognized the Dark Lord's jerky handwriting at once. That more than anything brought home the reality of the situation. It was dated just a few days after Draco's birth and told him specifically to seek out his cousin.

"What's more," Hermione continued, "Dumbledore said it himself: magic, especially dark magic, leaves traces. Castor had absolutely no trace of dark magic on him. I checked. He makes the rest of us look like dementors or something."

"Who are his adoptive parents? Is he still living at home?"

"We didn't get much chance to speak with him; he was tired after traveling..." Draco looked at Hermione for help.

"He took a plane here—muggle transportation. Apparently he doesn't like apparating," she said.

"Or he's not very good at it."

Ron snorted. "Well that would be embarrassing if the heir of Slytherin turned out to be a squib. I'd ship him to America too."

"I don't think so. He had plenty of trace magic. He might just not be terribly confident, and remember the culture is different over there," Hermione lectured him with a frown.

"Yeah it's like an entirely different country. Ow!" Ron recoiled when Hermione started flogging him with her purse, which made strange thudding noises as it struck its mark.

"Anyway," she continued once Ron was out of reach, "he's resting now. Due to the time difference he likely will be for several hours. We'll be able to ask him more when he wakes up."

"Yeah like 'Say, have you tortured any muggles lately?'" Ron was wisely hiding behind Harry.

"I told you he hasn't used dark magic."

"You don't need magic to torture people. Where's your sense of creativity?"

"Just because his father was a dark wizard doesn't mean he will be. He didn't even know his father!"

"'Sins of the father', Hermione. You've said yourself traits are inherited. It's only a matter of time before he turns." Ron sounded miffed.

"Traits like hair color, or ear shape! Even if behavioral traits are inheritable there is no guarantee they will manifest in the same way, or even at all. People still have free will. Voldemort grew up in an orphanage far away from anyone who could possibly understand him. It sounds like Castor had a family that cared for him."

"Great, even Voldemort made sure his kid was better looked after than I was," Harry said grumpily.

Severus saw the most peculiar memory flit to the surface of Harry's mind at that moment. His uncle was yelling and shoved him into what appeared to be a cupboard. Severus made a mental note to ask Harry about it later.

"Yeah and if that's your argument, Harry should have slaughtered half the school by fifth year."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Always looking out for you, mate."

"The point is—"

"The point is he's the only relatively sane family I've got left. I, for one, am not about to give up on him. If you'll excuse me I'm going to see my mother." Draco turned on his heel and left the room.

"Draco's right." Severus spoke quickly. "We have no reason to believe he is anything but what he says he is, and we should not give into paranoia. Miss Granger, will you perform the test you spoke of as soon as possible? It's in Castor's best interest to know for sure who his birth parents are as well."

"I can do it now. Wikket!" Severus stifled his surprise to see a house elf he recognized as belonging to the Malfoy's pop up next to Hermione. The girl crouched down to speak at her level. "Has our guest been causing any problems?"

"No Miss, he's still asleep."

"Oh good. Could you go pull a few hairs out of his head?"

"Hairs, Miss?"

"Yes, and bring them to me please."

"Of course Miss." Wikket popped out of sight.

"Thank you." Hermione said to the empty air.

Luna got up and started to drift towards the door. "I think I'll see if the fifth floor has pudding and check go on Draco."

Hermione looked as if she might object, but ended up just stepping aside to allow the girl passage.

"So you really think Castor is alright?" Harry asked Hermione as soon as Luna had left. The witch just nodded. "And there's no way you can verify that Voldemort is his father?"

"Not without some bit of him," she said morosely, looking at Severus.

"I know of no other way," he said, "but that does not mean a way does not exist."

"I'll—"

"—go to the library," Ron and Harry finished for her.

"What about his father's father? Could you confirm he was Castor's grandfather?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "We would need to exhume his remains, assuming we could find them."

"I know where they are," Harry said. Severus had been too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to Harry's. He now saw flashes of what had happened in the cemetery the night Voldemort came back. It was nothing like Lucius had described, the man having boasted to him about being present for the Dark Lord's return to power at every opportunity.

The last image he saw was Harry's parents coming out of Voldemort's wand. Suddenly seeing the vision of Lily nearly rent his heart, and they were soon both struggling to control their emotions. He wanted to offer some words of comfort to the boy, but again nothing came.

Harry's friends were apparently used to him needing stretched out moments to collect himself, as they waited patiently for him to continue.

"Little Hangleton. That's where the tri-wizard cup took Cedric and me."

The house elf known as Wikket popped back in and handed Hermione something.

"Thank you, Wikket. Did you wake him?"

"No, Miss. Wikket was most careful." She bowed graciously.

"Excellent job!" She bent down to hug the elf who looked slightly uncomfortable and disapparated the moment she was released.

Hermione went over to the table and muttered a sanitation charm over it. She pulled two empty vials, a stoppered bottle, and a parcel out of her bag. She unwrapped the parcel to reveal a rimmed tray containing a plane of clear agarose gel.

She then sanitized the two vials, placing the hairs Wikket had brought her in one, and a long dark hair she had pulled from her purse in the other. A drop from the bottle was added to each vial making them foam and sizzle, and Hermione upended them into narrow rectangular depressions in the gel.

She pointed her wand at the opposite end of the tray and appeared to be pulling the solutions she had made through the clear substance. They were periodically leaving dark bands behind as they moved through the medium. Once she was done she compared the two tracks and proclaimed, "Bellatrix is Castor's mother."

"Okay, let's go to the cemetery so we can run the other test. Better to get this over with before you have to talk to him again," Harry said. Hermione nodded, wrapping up the tray and placing it back in her bag with the other supplies.

"You sure that's a good idea, mate? How far is the cemetery?" Ron asked, looking between Severus and Harry.

"It's not much further than Malfoy Manner. If I'm in pain I'll come back straightaway." Harry was looking at Severus, his statement was more of a question. _'And I'd like to see how this works when I'm far away.'_ Severus nodded.

Ron and Hermione both took hold of one of Harry's hands. He turned on the spot and they were gone in a blink. He immediately understood what Harry had meant by feeling 'strained.' He felt like someone had grabbed his brains with a hook and was trying to yank them out through his ear. Strangely, it was not painful, but he felt the pressure of it build and assumed pain was not far off.

'_Can you hear me now?'_ He heard Harry think at him as clearly as if he was in the room.

'_Yes, and you?'_

'_Perfectly. How are your brains?'_

'_As you aptly described, they feel strained.'_

'_Tell me if it hurts you. It never started to hurt me, but I came back when you were waking up last time.' _

He could pick up thoughts and sounds of what Harry was experiencing. The boy was focusing on his task at hand rather than dwelling on the past which made the emotional overflow minimal. He saw an image of the overgrown cemetery Harry stood in and Riddle, Sr.'s moss-covered gravestone. The sound of leaves and twigs crunching was strangely sharper and the feel of the enveloping fog strangely heavier than he knew they would have been to him.

Harry shivered as Hermione floated bones out of the ground and into a heavy canvas satchel which disappeared into the same little bag on her hip.

'_This feels different,' _Harry thought, ghosting his hand over Riddle's gravestone. _'I think someone else has been here.'_

'_It's a graveyard of course other people have been there.'_

Harry's mental himming-and-hawing indicated he was not convinced. _'Maybe. I'd like to ask around and see if anyone else has been talking about the Riddles. Everyone in this town always did love to gossip. Maybe someone knows something.'_

'_You are far too recognizable. If there are any wizards there…'_

'_I'll use Polyjuice potion.'_

'_I'm beginning to think you've developed a habit.'_

Harry chuckled. _'I'm sending Hermione back to start on the test. Ron and I will be back soon.'_ The boy's thoughts became pleasantly cloudy.

Though they were unable to _block_ each other out, they had learned to _tune_ each other out, much like one could ignore a nearby conversation or radio program.

_'Did you just call me white noise?' Harry asked with feigned indignation.  
_

'_No, no. Grey noise at least._'

Hermione entered the room a moment later looking rather grim. "Did everything go as planned?"

"Yes, I just don't particularly like grave robbing innocent people."

'_Tell her Voldy's father was a wanker.'_

"It is regrettable this task has fallen to you." His attempt at sympathy was ignored.

Hermione transfigured the table in the room into a long skinny metallic table that was rather taller than the original. She pulled out the canvas bag and began floating out the hundreds of bones one at a time. After an hour she had a full skeleton organized on the table, with one notable exception: it was missing its left femur.

"Harry said to expect that. Apparently Wormtail used it in the ritual to raise Voldemort." The witch answered his unspoken question.

"I see."

Wand in hand, Hermione pointed it at each of the vertebra in turn. As far as he could tell, she had adapted muggle technology that he was only vaguely familiar with to perform her tests. She looked disappointed when she reached the end of the spinal column. "What exactly are you looking for?" Severus asked.

"I need a sample in order to run electrophoresis. I was hoping there would be some remaining tissue on the bones but it has all decomposed. I'll have to grind down some of the bone itself until I can find enough material. I was just hoping to avoid any destructive testing."

The witch pulled a mortar and pestle from her bag after rummaging around for a full minute. She set it on the table and gingerly plucked a tiny bone from the skeleton's foot. "Is there anything you don't have in there?" he mused.

"My sense of human dignity."

She began furiously beating and grinding the bone to a pulp. He could not avoid analyzing her overzealous technique, and he looked up to see angry tears in her red eyes. "Allow me," he said. He took her work and began to gently grind up the material. The action made his arm ache, but it felt good to be useful.

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I simply did not want you to contaminate your sample," he said dismissively, but couldn't help feeling happy when she seemed to calm down.

"I'm going to have Wikket sew handkerchiefs up all of your sleeves." Draco's sudden arrival startled Hermione, and he handed her a red cotton square from behind. "What's wrong baby doll?"He asked under his breath, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

"Oh I'm just being silly. Are you alright?" Her eyes were dry immediately, and she was fawning over Draco a second later.

Severus ground a little harder. _You're just jealous old man._

It took him a moment to realize the thought had originated from himself and was not Harry berating him.

From what Draco said, Narcissa had come out of her catatonic state on her own. She was refusing to talk to anyone, including her own son, except to tell anyone that would listen that she wasn't going to talk to them. Her healer had assured Draco that this was progress.

"What have you been up to?" Gray eyes peeked over her, noticing the skeleton on the table for the first time.

"Paternity testing."

"Oh fun," Draco said.

"Oh dear," Severus said. He had gotten a wisp of jumbled thoughts from Harry, just moments before him and the redhead stumbled through the door. Draco and Hermione jumped out of their way.

"Great Aunt Tessie!" Ron squealed going to hug the table full of bones, but Draco held him back. He and Harry collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Oh dear," Hermione echoed.

"She called me dear! Teeheehee! Shhh—don't tell the ferret!" Ron's voice was pitched high as he cackled. His head shook unstably as he tried to hold his index finger up to his mouth but ended up poking it up his nose.

"Schtuff it, Ginger. You know I'm the only one you'll ever love." Harry slurred terribly as he lunged at Ron, knocking him over. The two rolled on the floor trying to beat each other senseless, or perhaps undress each other. Severus could not tell which.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly. "You boys were meant to be asking after the Riddles in Little Hangleton, remember?"

"Oh!" Harry said, trying to pick himself up. Hermione continued to glare at them which left Draco to help Harry to his feet and hold him at arm's length to steady him. "Oh yes. We did that, we did that." Ron nodded vigorously having managed to get himself standing all by himself.

"And?" the witch prompted.

"Well _apparently_ there is nothing to do in the town exchept go to the pub—"

"The Hanged Man!" Ron shouted enthusiastically, toasting the air with an empty hand.

"—so we thought well 'when in Rome' and all that. So we went over there, and—um—what was I talking about?"

"You were finding out if anyone knew about a Riddle showing up around the time Castor was born?"

"Oh yes! You are—just—so—awesome." Harry held out a hand towards Severus as he punctuated each word with a slight whimper. "And they hadn't heard anything." Harry's pout was highly exaggerated and his words sounded whiny.

"That was tragic, but they were SO NICE though." Ron's eyes had grown wide with reverence as he spoke.

"Yes, so nice, mmm." Harry half-mooned his eyes and swayed slightly back and forth a moment.

"That's all?" Hermione said pursing her lips.

"Hmm? Oh! Well they were _just so nice _so we did some more re-cog-nizzance for the—cause—and all. Erm, turns out someone else had come inquiring about the Riddles just a few years ago!"

Ron leaned hard against the metal table, shoving it into Hermione's breast bone. Harry took her whimper of pain as excited surprise.

"That's what I said!"

"Who?" Severus asked.

"That's what an owl says!"

"Who was asking about the Riddles?"

"Well _I _wasn't in the pub a few years ago; I was in the schmemetery getting cut up by the man that had me orphaned, 'member?!" Harry said with something akin to panic.

"I mean did you get a description?"

"Oh!" He sat down heavily on the hospital bed, looking between the older man and the bone dust. "Don't sneeze!" He laughed at his joke. "They said she was strange. I mean black. I mean her hair was black! And pale—her skin was pale—and skin colored. She was short and—ah—_curvaceous_. She gave her name as Anna? They all said she was _really_ nice." Harry's eyes were completely glazed over as he nodded with a dopey grin. Ron had plopped down on a chair, falling asleep with his head back.

"This is done," Severus said, handing the mortar back to Hermione.

She sealed it and put her supplies away. "I think I need more room to work," Hermione said as she looked disparagingly at the two inebriated personages in the room. Bones were being floated back into her canvas bag and the table returned to normal when Ron was jarred out of his slumber.

"Huh?" He looked around. "Bye Aunt Tessie! Oy c'mere a sec." Ron slurred at Draco, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him into the hallway.

Hermione had finished packing and cleaning. The boys were only in the hallway a moment before Severus heard shouting.

"I don't have it anymore!"

"That's not the word on the street." Ron said mockingly, but Draco did not reply.

The blonde stepped into the room a moment later taking Hermione by the elbow. "Are you ready?" He asked her gently, though the previous conversation had clearly agitated him. Hermione just nodded, and they disappeared a second later.

Ron entered afterword, red-faced, followed by Luna. "They had pudding!" she said. Blue was perched on her right arm and appeared to be licking at a blob of chocolate in her hand. "Ron you don't look well."

"I'm—hiccup—fine."

"Oh my. Come with me. Daddy has a million hangover cures."

Ron let the girl lead him out of the room and down the hallway, presumably to floo to her home in Devon.

"And then there were two." Harry gave Severus a sidelong look, and then turned to face him. With amazing agility Harry abruptly pulled himself to sit astride Severus, resting his weight on his legs and his arms on either side of him.

Harry's face was flushed and pleasantly unfocused. The edges of his thoughts became tinged with desire as he leaned minutely into Severus. "Potter," he said warningly.

"Don't call me that!" Harry abruptly sat back. "That name is everything you hate. I don't want you to hate me anymore! I didn't even know him. I'm sorry for what they did to you—for what he did to you. I _hate_ him for what he did to you!" His voice was sad and angry. The hopeless green eyes blinking at him made Severus want to keen.

"It's okay," Severus said awkwardly.

"No it's not okay! Even if you stop seeing him when you look at me you'll start seeing her. You'll never just see me—"

"You need to rest."

"I want you to see me."

"You are sitting on top of me; I assure you I see you."

Severus thought he saw a tear streaking its way down Harry's cheek before he hid his face with his hands.

"Harry," he said and reached out to pull the younger man's hand down. "You need to rest." His voice was firm, but he pulled Harry towards him gently. Severus let his bed down flat, feeling less pain with each passing hour, and slightly expanded it.

The messy hair and shaky hands moved without resistance as he laid Harry next to him. Evidently Harry's newfound calm had come at the expense of dealing with his feelings, a concept Severus was only too familiar with. "Rest," he repeated. Harry's dozing eyes were fighting to stay open but he eventually gave in. Severus took off his wire rimmed glasses and set them on the table.

The boy's spinning thoughts started to calm as Harry passed into sleep, and then into dreams, but his dreams immediately became violent.

"_Kill the spare,"_ he heard Voldemort hiss, and then watched Pettigrew snuff out Cedric Diggory's life without a second thought.

He watched Pettigrew plunge his knife into Harry's arm, then saw Harry and Voldemort dueling, four spirits emerging from his wand as before. He watched enraptured as Lily spoke tenderly to her son.

The nightmares continued. Severus shivered to think of what Harry might have seen in his own dreams. He focused on clearing his head and relegating the fitful nightmares to the back of his mind, praying for patience, or guidance, or a miracle.


	12. In Flagrante Dilectio

**WARNING **for this chapter only: **child abuse, sexual abuse, and incest** (the trifecta of trauma). Please skip section preceded and proceeded by a triple asterisk (***) if you do not wish to read.

* * *

**WARNING **for the rest of this story: For anyone that has not read or does not understand the summary notations I would like to state them in plain English: **This story contains mature content and sexual themes of both a homosexual and heterosexual nature.** I will not be placing warnings for individual chapters so this is your last chance to turn back.

* * *

Chapter 12 — _In Flagrante Dilectio_

* * *

Hermione found herself in Draco's bedroom a moment after they left St. Mungo's. The curtains were thrown open, and her companion stepped up to the impossibly massive window that overlooked the courtyard.

His hand came up to touch the cool glass, as if reaching out to his past. "Can we talk?" he asked after a moment of silent contemplation.

"Of course."

At his guidance they moved to sit on his bed. "Wikket wants to serve you permanently."

"Oh, I—what?"

"She asked me and I couldn't agree more. I certainly don't need an entire fleet of house elves for just me, and I'll feel much better knowing someone's looking after you."

"I can't have a house elf! I don't even have a house!"

Draco smiled and touched her face. "You both have a home here for as long as you like."

"But I can't have a—a slave!"

"How many times do I have to tell you; not all elves are like Dobby. If any of my elves decide they don't want to serve me I will happy let them go, as I am Wikket."

"Oh how big of you."

His smile faded, but he continued his argument. "She wants this. Pay her—set her free if you want but talk to her about it first. You are so willing to deny her happiness, but think I deny her freedom?"

"I don't think you—"

"It's fine. She just asked me to pass along the request for her. Can we not talk about it anymore?"

"Alright."

The silence between them stretched out.

"I should finish this test before Castor wakes up," she said finally. Draco nodded. "I'll just be a minute."

Hermione left a silent, motionless Draco to set up her test in the next room, obsessively cleaning and sanitizing at every step. Luckily the first sample she took from the remains of Riddle, Sr. had enough material that she didn't have to destroy any more bones.

She cleaned up all of her work and returned to the bedroom half an hour later with the results. "Riddle was Castor's grandfather," she told Draco. He just nodded. "I'll look into other methods of paternity testing later."

She sat crossed-legged in front of him. Her growing nervousness eventually drew his attention.

"What is it?" he asked, focusing his concentration on her. She blushed and was unable to meet his gaze. This immediately piqued his interest. "Please tell me."

Hermione spoke hesitantly. "I was helping Andrell with some of his research yesterday while you were resting. He's working on a potion to treat the effects of exposure to the cruciatus curse. It's actually quite promising." Draco just nodded.

"I found something—a spell—in your Dark Mark that I think was also meant to counteract its effects. Remember how I said Voldemort used all kinds of manipulative spells? I saw one that was just a pleasure-inducing spell. At least I thought that was its only function until I ran across the spell in a medical journal."

Hermione pulled an ancient-looking periodical from her bag, which she had left on the corner of the bed. "It's noted along with the cruciatus curse. Look." She pointed at a passage in the journal, which Draco put his nose up to.

"What's that symbol?" He pointed at what looked like an uppercase 'V' with a horizontal line shooting out of the left side and another line partially folded back over it.

"That's what got my attention too! It's the symbol for 'is an inverse operator of.'"

"So it's the inverse of the cruciatus curse? How does that work?"

"Yes and no. The term is usually used to refer to functions that undo each other: like addition undoes subtraction or differentiation undoes integration. I've never seen it applied to a spell before."

"So you think this—" he paused to consult the careworn journal she was still holding out to him "—delicium spell would _undo_ the cruciatus curse?"

"Yes. I'm just not sure if it's a counter-curse or if it undoes the effects of the curse."

"If there was some miracle cure to the cruciatus curse don't you think we would have heard about it?" he asked.

"That's another thing I'm not certain about. It's entirely possible that it fell out of common knowledge, just as the cruciatus curse did until Voldemort used it so freely. It's also entirely possible I'm wrong." Draco nodded vaguely, not sure where she was going with this. "I want to try it on you."

"Oh. Um, sure."

"I need you to understand something. Whereas the cruciatus curse triggers pain everywhere, the delicium spell triggers pleasure—_everywhere_." She watched him nervously.

"And you think I'm going to say no to a girl who wants to light up all of my pleasure sensors?"

"I just wouldn't want things to get—uncomfortable between us. You're too important to me to risk that, so I wanted to make sure you understood."

He scooted closer to her and gently placed his soft hand on her cheek. She unconsciously closed her eyes to savor his touch. "Hermione I never want you to feel uncomfortable with me, and I had to learn to be comfortable with my sexuality at a very young age. It's the only way I survived."

"Survived what?" she asked, concern suddenly distorting her features.

"My childhood."

"Draco what do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly, turning away from her.

"It matters to me." He remained silent. Hermione reached up, forcing him to look at her. "I never want you to feel uncomfortable with me either, sweetheart. Please tell me."

Draco was shaking his head slightly, lower lip quavering. "I can't."

She started to pull back, her heart breaking in two.

"But I can show you."

She hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her very close to his face. She could feel his breath on her lips. He closed his eyes, pushing out unshed tears, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from kissing his tears away, whimpering slightly with the effort.

When he opened his eyes again, her mind clouded. She had a strange double vision, seeing both Draco in front of her and an image that he was projecting clearly into her mind's eye. The image he sent made her instinctively pull away, but his hand held her firmly in place.

Hermione saw a witch with curly brown hair dressed completely in black. She would recognize Bellatrix Lestrange anywhere, though the woman looked much younger. "Tell me if you want me to stop," Draco said softly. She felt puffs of air dance over her lips as he spoke.

"Okay," she said, looking from Draco to the image of Bellatrix and back.

***The closer she examined the memory, the closer she seemed to move towards the scene in front of her. Bellatrix was bathing a baby in a small basin, supporting its head with one hand. The witch sang singsong rhymes in a hushed soprano voice.

Hermione grew alarmed as she looked closer. The baby looked to be screaming his head off, but all she could here were the woman's sacrosanct lullabies. The water was pink, and what she had thought was Bellatrix washing the baby was actually her trailing the fine point of a sharp dagger along his skin, leaving a red line behind it along which drops of blood beaded.

She traced curlicues in sweeping motions on her canvas, singing pleasantly with a smile on her face while the baby continued its muted cries. Within a few seconds of forming, the red lines disappeared. She was clearly healing them as she went so she could trace over them again moments later.

Abruptly the image was replaced with another. The same child, who looked to be about a year old and now clearly had Draco's white blonde hair and grey eyes, was walking precariously across a wooden floor in a bunny suit.

Bellatrix was a few feet in front of him, calling to him encouragingly. When he got to her she scooped him up and squealed with glee. "I have a special reward for you," she said, and sat the squirming child into an overstuffed chair. The falsely beautiful woman made a show of unzipping the toddler's nightie and putting her hand inside to touch him.

To her surprise, the child didn't pull away or cry or even fuss, he just sat there cooing and looking up at his Aunt with wide eyes. She continued to talk animated baby talk as she took her hand back to reach up her own skirt for a moment, and then returned to touching the child.***

Abruptly the image was gone and she saw only him. "They go on in that vein extensively but you get the idea."

Hermione stood in shock for a moment, her mouth trying to form coherent words. Finally she got out, "I am so, so sorry." She couldn't help but cry, crushing him to her like she was clinging to life itself.

"It's okay," he tried to reassure her once she let go enough that he could breathe again.

"Clearly it's not, if this is your way of dealing with it." She gently touched the soft fabric over his inner thigh where his self-inflicted cuts were undoubtedly still knitting together.

"Some days are better than others."

"How do you even remember that?" she asked him.

He laughed. "My mother always suspected something was wrong with me."

"Something wrong with you?" she asked skeptically.

"Well I showed signs of… abuse. I had horrible mood swings, and was... inappropriate with her guests sometimes. And, if you didn't notice, I was a bit of a bully. By the time she brought it up I didn't remember anything. A friend of hers knew a doctor that performs hypnotic regression, so she took me and I remembered."

"Your mother knew about it?"

"After the fact. Bellatrix was sent to Azkaban shortly after the last thing you saw. Mum never told anyone else, but she did take me to get help."

Hermione knitted her eyebrows together, and Draco touched a finger to them.

"It did help, trust me. You didn't know me well before. She took me to a hospital in Germany where they have healers that specialize in psycho-sexual well-being. They are not as puritanical there; they made me believe sex is not something to be ashamed of."

Suddenly Draco's mastery of the German language made more sense. "What about after Bellatrix escaped from prison?" Hermione asked.

"Mum wouldn't let her alone with me for a second. You should have seen Bellatrix hanging on me in front of everyone, all the while no one guessing. It made me sick." His voice was a mixture of anger and anguish, and she wished fervently she could take some of that away from him. "I'm still coming to terms with what happened. I'm doing the best I can."

"Drake, I can't help think, our brains sometimes have very good reasons for repressing memories. Are you sure you are better off knowing what happened? I could—"

"I don't think it was repressed. I think I was just too young to remember. You don't really keep memories until around age three, when you have the vocabulary to put words to them. Before that, if, for example, you're bitten by a dog, you might be scared of dogs the rest of your life but have no idea why. Besides, I would just remember everything whenever I got near a dementor."

"_That's_ what you see when a dementor gets near you?" Hermione asked disbelievingly, "And you actually had the nerve to make fun of Harry for fainting?"

"Well, when I was thirteen, I thought no one else could possibly be seeing anything worse than I was. I know better now. Why, what does he see?"

"His mother being murdered and screaming out his name."

Draco took an audible gulp. "And that was probably the first time he saw that. By then I'd had time to process what happened to me, so I suppose it was not so much of a shock. Look, I've already said I'm not going to make excuses. I was bang out of order. I like to think that I've grown up."

"I know you have," she said gently.

"Anyway, even if I didn't see Bellatrix whenever dementors came around, like I said there was always 'something wrong' with me. I would still have the symptoms with no explanation. I wouldn't be able to have a normal relationship, and I would have no idea why. It's better this way, Hermione."

She nodded, once again wishing she had better words of comfort. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You already are." He took both of her hands, looking earnestly into her open face. "I didn't show you this so you would feel sorry for me. I just... well, you know how I feel about you. I wanted to show you _me._"

She nodded and they sat in comfortable silence a moment. "Thank you," she said finally. "For trusting me with you. And I would be lying if I said I didn't have feelings for you too, but I've just gotten out of one relationship. I don't want to screw this up."

"It's okay. I understand. If there is one thing the noble house of Slytherin prides itself on is patience. Would you like to start your test now?"

Hermione had completely forgotten about the spell she wanted to perform. "Are you sure you're up to it after... "

"I am if you are. I've had those memories replay a million times in my head. I can just as easily shove them away."

In truth she was feeling slightly nauseous at what she had seen, but making Draco happy was more important to her than her own comfort. She nodded and rummaged around in her bag for a moment. "The cruciatus curse is so devastating because it causes nerve damage. I need to perform a synaptic aptitude test before and after to see if the spell has helped you." She pulled out a clear wand with a stripe on it she had liberated from the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's.

"Where did you get that?" he asked with genuine confusion.

"Oh—I stole it."

"Right of course."

"They have hundreds, and I need to analyze one. It's only the second example of set spells I've been able to find."

Hermione flicked the wand at him, feeling the outflow of hundreds of spells and the influx of hundreds of answers a split second later. She was immediately addicted.

"Ready?" she asked, trying not to sound nervous. Draco nodded. "You should probably lie down." He did as she suggested, kicking off his shoes, pulling off his coat, and undoing the top button on his shirt. She pointed her wand at him. Thankfully her hand was not shaking.

"_Dilectio_," she said. Draco started writhing the moment the spell left her lips and she pulled it back with fear. "Did I hurt you?"

"No—don't stop." His eyes were wide and his voice gravely.

"_Dilectio_," she repeated more confidently. He started wriggling again. Now that she was prepared, she was able to see it was far less violently than when he was under the torture curse. He also appeared to be uttering sounds and parts of words, whereas in the courtyard he was silent.

The other differences were slightly more pronounced. He took long, deep breaths, his chest heaving pleasantly with the effort. His eyes would periodically roll back underneath his slowly closing eyelids. His hips jerked upwards periodically with frustrated whimpers, and if his tented pants were any indication her suspicion about the spell inducing sexual pleasure was correct.

"Ooh," he moaned and appeared to be trying to reach his hand out to her. It snaked jerkily across the bed, and she grabbed it with her free hand. The contact seemed to allow him to anchor his gaze on hers. His moans and whimpers grew louder and more frequent. Watching his state of euphoria she felt desire bubbling inside of her. She wished she dared touch him.

Draco's hips jerked up again as he cried, "Hermione," before collapsing back onto the bed. His muscles appeared to be firing randomly, but he was more still than before. He stared wide-eyed, seemingly at nothing, as his frantic breathing slowed. She held onto the spell a few seconds more, until her timing charm signaled a minute was up, and then released him.

He lay completely still now, still staring at the ceiling. "I'm going to change," he said after another minute has passed. He stood up robotically and walked to the far end of his room where he was swallowed by a huge closet.

The thought of Draco undressed only feet away undid her. Hermione's head pulsed with desire and her legs grew weak. She crawled onto the bed, staying upright on her knees. An inexplicable and unstoppable force made her raise her left hand to her chest, squeezing her breast as hard as she could. Her other hand trailed up her inner thigh, enjoying the softness of her own skin and pulling hard when she reached the top. A single tear fell down her numb face. _This isn't love, this is lust, _she told herself, but the truth was she didn't know how she felt anymore. She only knew the pleasant burn radiating from her pelvis that was not going away on its own.

She tried unsuccessfully to suppress her tiny cries, listening for any hint of the closet door opening. _Go_, she told herself. _Go now_. She thought about going to stroke herself to climax in the bathroom, but she could not and did not want to move. She was both terrified and enthralled by what might happen when Draco came back. _Move dammit!_

After a few minutes of blissful agony, she heard the closet door opened. Draco walked towards her looking happy and relaxed, adjusting his new outfit to perfection. "You really are—"

He stopped talking the moment he saw her look of lust so potent it was painful.

"Drake, I need—"

Hermione was relieved when he crossed the room in a heartbeat, laying her back on the bed ever so gently. Draco let his hands trail down her sides, but then pulled them away, trying to get his breathing under control. He pulled his wand from up his sleeve and pointed it at her. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. They were much calmer when he opened them again. "_Dilectio_."

She had barely heard the sound leave his lips when a wave of unadulterated pleasure hit her. Like pain might pulse through a headache, bliss pulsed in all parts of her body. She was vaguely aware that she was moving, probably wriggling like Draco had. She was unable to still herself and at this point could really care less.

A tightness in her pelvis grew to nearly unbearable proportions. She desperately wanted him to touch her, to relieve the ache that, at that moment, defined and justified her existence. A moment later she felt her right arm still, and realized Draco was holding onto her hand.

This simple innocent touch sent electric shockwaves through the rest of her body and finally sent her over the edge. The knot in her pelvis exploded, sending fragments of excruciating delight flying through her as her insides vibrated with glee.

As the wave slowly subsided she noticed new sensations. The pleasure pulses still hit her, but now also what felt like someone trailing a feather along her skin everywhere on her body. It was an entirely different kind of pleasure: relaxing and sensual and quite addictive.

Abruptly it stopped, but the satisfied, sated sensation remained. "—the brightest witch of your age," Draco finished his earlier sentence, "and the most beautiful."

"Thank you." Her voice came out hoarse. "For everything I mean." She attempted to make her voice work properly. "My throat hurts."

Draco burst out laughing. "Sorry, you just have the most adorable look on your face."

"Well I'm glad you think so." She tried clearing her throat again. "This is strange."

"Well… you were screaming," Draco said sheepishly.

Hermione could feel herself turning bright red. Had she screamed out his name as he had screamed out hers earlier? Did he know he had?

"Hey, hey what happened to things not getting uncomfortable?" He got onto the bed and pulled her to him, letting her hide her face against his chest. This alone made her infinitely more comfortable, for the worst part about being easily embarrassed for her was being further embarrassed by everyone being able to tell that she was embarrassed. He seemed to understand her need to hide sometimes.

Draco leaned backwards, pulling her with him. Her embarrassment quickly left her, and she lay with her head resting on his chest, listening to his heart beating, until he fell asleep.

Hermione was anything but tired. Instead she watched Draco sleep. His normally troubled features relaxed as he slept, aside from periodically waking up in a panic to make sure she was still there. Each time he would squeeze her tightly to him, until falling back into a light slumber. Hermione pulled a blanket over them, and slipped into a light sleep herself.

She woke up when Draco sat up, though he tried not to jar her. "Sorry," he said. She just smiled at him. "So did it work?"

Hermione's clouded mind failed to process this sentence. She would have thought her cries of ecstasy would have indicated the spell's success.

"Nerve damage?"

"Oh that! I didn't—I didn't check." He smirked at her. "I'll check." She pulled the special wand out of her bag and waved it at him. She felt relieved more than anything: his synaptic response had improved significantly, back up to nominal levels.

Some of the other measurements had changed, but she had no idea what the majority of the spells did. She was not looking too much into them yet. She did not want to pry into Draco's medical history beyond what he had given her permission to, and, from what Harry had said, the device would give some sort of visual cue if there was anything seriously wrong.

"This is wonderful! It's drastically improved back up to normal levels!" her smile was contagious.

"And what about you?"

"Oh I never thought to check myself, er, before." She waved the wand over herself. "I'm normal," she said.

"There I would have to disagree with you."

She smacked his shoulder. "But Bellatrix didn't torture me nearly as long in one go."

"What pleasant conversations we have." His smile had disappeared, and he got off the bed to pace its length.

She slid off the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder to halt his retreating step. "Talk to me," she said to his back. He stopped walking but did not turn around. "Don't shut me out."

He bowed his head and spoke softly at the ground. "I just feel like no matter what I do to make up for everything terrible that happened to you—to everyone—or how many times I say I'm sorry, even if you forgive me—."

"I do forgive you."

"—even though you've forgiven me, I will never stop trying to make up for it, and I will never forgive myself."

"And that's exactly why you deserve forgiveness," she said, snaking around him to look up into his face. "You were faced with an impossible decision. Besides what could you have done?"

"I could have told them you were someone else."

"Your mother knew who I was. It wouldn't have helped."

"I could have apparated out of the manner with you."

"And how do you know you wouldn't have? You were obviously thinking about it." He did not speak, but she knew her words to be true. "You bought us the time we needed when you told her you didn't recognize Harry and Ron."

"Yes plenty of time for you to be tortured."

"Either of them would have done the same for me, and I did it for a greater cause if you'll remember. And I would do it again if I had to. For them, for you, for anyone I care about."

"You would do it for random strangers off the street."

"So? That's part of who I am. It sounds so silly now but the sorting hat really does know what it's talking about. That's what Harry and Ron and I all had in common. Not just bravery, plenty of people are brave, but standing up for anyone and anything we felt was right."

"What am I supposed to be brave for?"

"I don't know. Family? And you said your friends were your family."

"I really can't picture myself going out on a limb for any of my friends from school."

"Did you have any real friends in school?"

She watched him go from looking mildly offended to genuinely pondering her question, his eyes moving back and forth while he recalled various memories. "I guess not."

"Well anyway, my point was we've both suffered at the hands of that wretch. I'm not about to let the thought of her keep me away from you now. And if you are really insistent on continuing to try to make it up to me, I suppose I could be amenable to that situation." She pitched her voice soft and low, and her seductive smile reached her eyes.

Draco looked like he had just seen a leprechaun spring into existence in front of him, do a little jig with Alice, and then disappear into a rabbit hole. That is to say, speechless.

"In the mean time, come on you we've got work to do." She led him out of the bedroom trailing after her like a puppy. Halfway to the library he seemed to recover and settle her arm into the crook of his elbow.

Hermione kept her eyes forward, and, though the smile she wore was genuine, her mind was panicking. She meant everything she said to Draco, and her attraction to him was nearly crushing. She hadn't expected him to die for her, or get his family killed to protect her.

What stuck with her was all of the atrocities he and his friends had committed over the years: the needless pain they inflicted. Always this thought settled on one thing: Ron, Harry, and her going down to comfort Hagrid before Buckbeak's execution and seeing Draco and his friends standing in the ruins mocking him. Sure he had been a prat, and sure it had been his even bigger prat of a father that had asked for the death sentence in the first place, but there was no need for them to be there to celebrate.

That image more than anything stuck with her. How could someone that would do that not let her down at some point in the future? Just as Ron had? The only person that had never failed her was Harry; was she being overly critical in comparing everyone to him? Harry had been upset when he found out his father was as much of an arrogant bully as Snape had always claimed, as bad as Malfoy he had said. James had changed, though. He must have if someone as kind and sweet as Lily Evans had fallen in love with him. _People change,_ she said to herself. That was always the sticking point. Did she herself believe it?

They reached the library and got seated at "their" table. "It's a shame all this space goes to waste. This library would better serve a school," she mused.

"It used to: a primary school for several of the local bluebloods before they went to Hogwarts. My mother started it so I could become more "socialized" with children my age. That's how I met Crabbe and Goyle. After I went off to school my father didn't want her to keep it going."

"Oh I see." The décor suddenly made more sense. While the rest of the manor was exquisite, the library was utilitarian. There were defunct chalkboards towards one corner, ink stains on the desks, and scrolls of parchment in cubby holes.

"What great mystery are we solving today?" Draco asked.

"I made a list," she said while pulling out her notebook. "First we were going to determine if there is another way to do paternity testing, that's the priority. But also I want to find out exactly what spells are in this," she held up the clear wand she had taken from St. Mungo's, "and how exactly it came into being. As I said I had thought Voldemort was the first one to experiment with magic like this. I'd also like to look for any mentions of the delicium spell in your library. I think that was about it for today."

As if to contradict her, an owl screeched loudly and swooped in through an open window. It was followed seconds later by another. The first owl dropped a thick envelope in front of her before flying back out the way it came. The second landed on Draco's shoulder and waited patiently for him to pull a note off of its leg.

Draco's letter was from the coroner informing him they had not received funeral arrangements yet. He sighed, and began writing a letter to a local funeral home.

Hermione's letter carried a Hogwarts' seal and was addressed to "Hermione Granger, Malfoy Manor. She tore it open excitedly. The first page read as such:

* * *

Dear Miss Granger,

Simple words cannot express the debt of gratitude that I and the entire wizarding community owe you and your friends. The three of you alone did what none of us, who are infinitely more experienced and supposedly wiser, could.

That being said, I feel that Hogwarts as an institution has a duty to serve you in whatever way you may need us. I feel strongly that you should complete any NEWT certifications you wish to. I invite the three of you to sit whichever of the upcoming exams you feel you are proficient in, and encourage you to return to Hogwarts next year for additional schooling in any topics you wish.

You have always shown a keen analytical eye when it comes to academics, so I have included outlines of the topics each NEWT may cover and ask discretion as you determine which subjects yourself, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley would be able to pass.

Kindly reply with your assessment by Tuesday 11 August, 1998. NEWT exams take place Monday 17 August through Friday 21 August, 1998.

In addition I have included the course curriculums of each of the seventh year classes. If you are not sure about Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley's intentions please consult them and let me know if any of you would like to come back for classes next year. There are several students from your year returning so you would not be alone.

Yours Always in Service,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S. I understand you are frequently in the company of Mr. Malfoy. Though I hesitate to write him during his mourning period for his father, should you feel he is up to receiving inquiries about his education do let me know.

* * *

Hermione snorted. Draco, who was still inking an apparently extensive letter, looked up at her. "What's up?"

"Professor McGonagall wants to know if you are too bereft to be receiving inquiries about your education."

"Hardly," he said.

"NEWT exams are in a couple months. She wants us all to sit any of them we are able."

"Doesn't that seem a bit ridiculous at this point?"

"No!" Hermione breathed. "It is important we finish our education. No one will remember half of what we did in fifty years—"

"If we're lucky."

"—and this is the best way to know where our strong points are when applying for jobs."

"As if there was a subject you are not strong in."

"I'm a lousy flyer."

"I'll teach you."

"Add it to the list then. Flying, Occlumency."

"Oh shit!" Draco said, a hand going to his forehead. "I forgot the Occlumency lessons with Potter."

"They are fine and don't expect you back for a few days after everything that happened. Besides don't we need to be here in case Castor wakes up?"

"Bear will let me know when he does." Draco was scribbling even more furiously, evidently trying to finish his letter in a hurry.

Hermione let him write but continued to stare at him. Eventually he felt her eyes and looked up with a questioning glance.

"Drake, Harry thinks you will hate him."

"What, more than usual?"

"I'm serious. He did kill your father."

"Only because I was too much of a coward to do it myself, and in doing so he saved your life, and my mum's and mine. Hate him? I'm going to thank him! Take out a subscription to the Harry Potter fan magazine. Throw out my collection of "Potter Stinks" badges."

Hermione laughed. "He used to carry one of those around in his trunk you know."

"Why on Earth would he do that?"

"I don't know. I suppose because he doesn't have many happy memories, so he just tries to hold on to the strong ones."

Draco didn't have a reply. He just grew thoughtful and then went back to his letter.

Hermione looked over the thick stack of paperwork McGonagall had sent her. Any of them could pass the DADA NEWT in their sleep. Her Charms and Transfiguration work had exceeded NEWT levels, and she thought Ron and Harry could pass with a small amount of study. In her quest to decipher the symbol for the Deathly Hallows she had practically memorized Spellman's Syllabary, and she realized with some regret she really did not need to take that class. This left her with Potions, Herbology, and one of her favorite subjects: Arithmancy.

She started writing a note to Professor McGonagall, informing her that she intended to sit the DADA, Charms, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration NEWTs, while she recommended Harry and Ron take the DADA, Charms, and Transfiguration NEWTs. She tucked the note away in her purse, deciding she should check with Ron and Harry before she sent it off.

At that moment Draco signed his letter with a flourish, sealed it in an envelope, and tied it to the leg of the small snowy owl that was still perched on his shoulder.

"So do you think you will be sitting your NEWTs this year?" Hermione tried to ask casually.

"What for? My newts are old enough to look out for themselves."

She giggled in spite of herself. "McGonagall wants to know."

He raised an eyebrow but thankfully did not try to get a look at what she was writing. "I don't see the point."

"You never intend on getting a job?"

"Not really. I've inherited about a dozen."

"Inherited?"

"The family businesses. The only reason I'm not being swamped with requisition orders, inquiries, proposals, and other nonsense yet is because I'm 'in mourning.'" He used air quotes to emphasize the last phrase.

It had never occurred to Hermione that Lucius Malfoy actually did anything for a living. "Well what if they all go belly up? Or what if you get tired of them?"

"Most of them have been right-side-up for half a millennia, but it's true I may get tired of them. Still, at that point—" He stopped when he saw the alarmed look on her face. "If it will make you happy, I will take my NEWTs, Hermie."

"All of them? Isn't there at least one subject you feel deficient in?" she prompted.

"Deficient? Not particularly, why?"

"If you take all of your NEWTs you wouldn't be able to return next year."

"Why would I want to do that?" his voice rose slightly at the preposterousness of the proposal. She just looked at him with pleading eyes. "Oh don't tell me you're doing back?"

"Of course I am! I missed an entire year!"

"You could pass any of the NEWTs on a bad day, Hermione."

"Pass, maybe, but I don't just want to pass!"

"And why is it so important that I'm there?" he said, unable to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

"Well, you could set a good example. We can't afford to allow continued animosity between houses if we want to live in a peaceful world. Everyone in your house would be looking to you for cues on how to behave, just as they did before. The last generation may be hopeless, but you can show this one there are other ways of thinking. You could really make a difference, Drake."

"Oh," he said. That had not been the answer he was hoping for, but it made complete sense. And if it made her happy…

"And I want you there."

"I'll find something to study."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_In flagrante delicto_ is a Latin phrase used in English meaning literally "in blazing offense" and would be the equivalent of "caught in the act." The chapter name is a play on that phrase with "dilectio," according to Google Translate, meaning love or delight. So, the chapter title would mean "in blazing delight." Please note I have never taken a day of Latin in my life so that's probably wrong. Luckily, this is a work of fiction.

* * *

**Author's Note: **As far as I know there is no mathematical symbol for "is the inverse operator of." :'( I made it up.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for all the author's notes.


	13. The Lion, the Witch, and the Werewolf

Chapter 13 — The Lion, the Witch, and the Werewolf

* * *

Severus woke up struggling for air and unable to see. He began thrashing about in a panic, but immediately relaxed when he realized where he was. The trashing had dislodged the pillow that was on his face, and he slowly pried Harry's arm off of him so he could breathe again.

Those few movements caused him terrible pain. Evidently he had been overzealous in helping Hermione grind up the bone. He lay still a moment to catch his breath. Once he had, he was overwhelmed with images coming no doubt from the person sleeping next to him.

It seemed Harry was recalling a terrible memory, though how he could remember it Severus had no idea. He was walking through what Severus recognized as the Potter home, up a flight of stairs towards a small room he knew to be the nursery. This was the same path he himself had taken sixteen years ago, and Severus clenched his eyes shut trying to stop the memory playing.

Harry's subconscious, however, did not head him. He watched in horror as a thin white hand pushed open a door he knew led to the nursery, and then saw Lily Evans standing defiantly in front of her baby's crib. He heard a cold cruel voice demand she step aside, followed by her repeatedly begging to give her own life for her son's. With a flick of impatience a green light shot out towards her, and she collapsed on the floor. Slowly and seductively, like a cat with a cornered mouse, he moved towards the child, circling him slowly and drinking up every cry the child made. Finally, another flash of light, and there was only darkness.

"No," Harry moaned in his sleep. Then again, and again, until he was shouting it. Severus shook him gently at first, then gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and tried to wake him in earnest. Harry's eyes opened, the light of the full moon picking out the tears glistening on his face.

The younger man looked at him with considerable confusion, the stagnant smell of ale still ripe on his breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered before silent tears began to flow through gravity's wake.

Severus had never been comfortable with emotions, but, after what he had shown Harry and the link they now shared, he knew he could no longer pretend he didn't have any, at least not to the youth.

He sat awkwardly a moment before putting his hand on Harry's forehead. It was the closest he could come to comforting. Tears still flowed, but Harry reached a hand up to hold onto his wrist for dear life. Evidently the gesture was well received.

The grip on his arm loosed not a moment too soon, as Severus was growing weak from propping himself up on his elbow. He took his arm away and was relieved to see the tears had stopped, collapsing back onto the bed with a sharp exhalation of air.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked. The few stars he could see seemed to twinkle in time to the silence that met his question.

Severus thought for a moment that his companion might have fallen asleep, but eventually heard his quiet reply. "For everything you had to do, and everything you went through, and all of it so very alone."

Severus fought back memories he had been trying to keep in check. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me," was his exhausted and emotionally drained response.

'_I'm feeling sorry with you.'_

'_I don't need you to do that either.'_

'_Well it would appear you are stuck with me. Only a fool would turn down assistance when it is so incessantly offered.'_

'_Only a fool would try to assist me.'_

'_Then call me a fool.'_ Harry's mental voice had calmed and cleared significantly, and he was now propped up on one elbow carefully considering Severus' face.

'_You're a fool.'_

'_I'm telling mum,' the youth chided with a grin on his face.  
_

Severus could not help the emotional duress those words invoked. He turned his face away, and concentrated on breathing normally. He could feel Harry hot on the heels of his emotional retreat.

'_There you go again. Do you think you're going to break me? Or yourself?'_

'_What I think is none of your business.'_

'_No, nor anyone else's, hardly even your own. You're not devoid of emotion; you're a mine field of it. Is loneliness really better than facing pain?'_

'_Most days.'_

'_Is that why you became a Death Eater? To inflict pain on others so you wouldn't have to face your own?'_

'_You have no idea what you're talking about.'_

'_No I'm just the one whose parents got killed because you overheard a prophecy and reported it to the Dark Lord as any of his loyal servants would.' _

'_Stop.'_

'_I'm just the one who had to clean up your mess when I was barely old enough to apparate.'_

'_Please stop,' he begged. _Severus hated the weakness in his voice.

'_I'm just the one that has been at your bedside for nearly two weeks, watching for the slightest movement or change in color or any sign of life and terrified that I would never see any. I'm just the one who shares every waking and sleeping thought you have day in and day out all of which you refuse to acknowledge.'_

'_It's your fault we have this stupid connection in the first place.'_

'_What was I supposed to do? Let you die?'_

"YES!" Severus shouted out loud, and he could feel Harry pull away from his slightly. By the boy's next thoughts he knew he had betrayed himself. Harry saw how much he had longed for death ever since Lily had died, how much he longed for it still, and how the only thing that had kept him alive was looking out for Harry.

Harry wrenched Severus' face around to look at him and spoke in a soft but determined tone: "I'm not going to let that happen. It's my turn to look out for you."

He could see Harry wonder if he should tell Andrell that his patient was suicidal. "Please don't," Severus said quickly with increasing panic. "They will transfer to me a psych ward if you do; I would be little better than a prisoner. I couldn't possibly bear the shame."

"There is no shame in trying to get better," Harry said kindly and with much naiveté but realized quickly that Severus would probably say anything and everything to get out of there as fast as possible without receiving any benefit. He had been a spy for far too long. _'I understand. I won't say anything.' _Severus wanted to cry with relief. _'But only if you talk to me.'_

'_About what?'_

'_Anything.'_

'_Could you be more specific?' _

Severus watched Harry's thoughts entertain various possibilities. Finally he settled on,_ 'What's your favorite color?'_

'_Black.'_

'_That's not a color.' _Silence. "What did you like about my mother?"

"She was kind to me, and comforting, at a time in my life when I sorely needed it."

"But you were a comfort to her too."

"I suppose."

"Why were you so in need of comfort?"

_Walked right into that one didn't you, Severus?_ he chided himself. Unbidden, a stream of images from his childhood came to mind.

"I'm sorry" Harry whispered into the black room.

"I don't need your sympathy."

"Fine I'm not sorry."

"That's more like it," he grumped at Harry, who sighed internally.

"Did you really believe what you said to my mother? That being muggle born doesn't matter?"

"Even if your mother's scholastic aptitude wasn't proving it at every turn, yes, I really believe that."

Harry mulled that over. He wondered if Severus had to keep that fact secret from the Dark Lord in order to stay in his good graces, but sensed the man's mind going dark at this thought. "What sort of animal did you bring to school?"

Severus was so shocked by the abrupt change in topic that he answered without thinking. "I didn't… at first. As you are no doubt aware by now my family was not well off."

Harry nodded. "You said 'at first'?"

He sighed, knowing if he didn't tell the story posthaste the brunette would just pluck it from his mind. "As you are _also_ no doubt aware by now, children can be very cruel to each other. Some students—"

"You mean my father."

"—him and plenty others, trust me—liked to remind me of my poverty on a daily basis of which not having a pet at school was simply one example. I decided I was going to have a better companion than any of them. The brightest and most spectacular, that would make all of them envious."

The younger man was smiling at the passion with which he spoke. "And did you?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"A phoenix."

"A phoenix? That's brilliant! But how did you afford—"

"Phoenixes cannot be bought or bartered! They have to be won, rather like a wand, they must choose you. Even when I was in school Dumbledore had Fawkes, and even the other faculty was envious of the old man. It took a long time, but I finally found one and… courted her, as it were."

"But where is she now?"

"She left me," Severus said, the words cutting at his heart. "Like your mother, when I dabbled too much in the dark arts." Several tears leaked from his eyes, but the youth had the sense to remain silent. "I suppose that's what I get for naming her Lily."

They exchanged sad smiles. Their conversation went on for hours, mostly talking on inane topics, but every now and then Harry would glean information of worth from the stubborn man. He cherished these tidbits of knowledge, telling his brain to file them close to his heart next time he slept.

* * *

Hermione and Draco worked into the evening, with him periodically going to St. Mungo's to check on his mother. "No change," he said when he returned just after dinnertime.

"I'm really beginning to hate that phrase."

Unable to find a more conclusive paternity test, Hermione had moved onto studying for her NEWTs, insisting that Draco do the same. He had wisely not argued with her.

"Is this really necessary?" the blonde said doubtfully while looking at the large piece of parchment she had presented him with. It was the first time he had been on the receiving end of one of her study schedules so she could understand his reticence.

"You'll thank me some day."

"My dad said that a lot."

"Hush." She was comparing a long list of Transfiguration topics to the index in her textbook, marking off the pages that might be useful (which was most of the book) when a surprisingly cool breeze dislodged her papers. She got up to close the window, obscuring the bright lunar light, when a deafening alarm rent the silence. "What's that?" she shouted to be heard over it.

Draco was already getting up and heading to the exit, wand drawn. "Proximity alert. I can't keep family from apparating in, but I can set up an alarm to warn me if they do." He waved his wand in a circle over his head and the alarm was silenced.

"Has more family come to kill you?" Hermione asked, jogging to keep up with him.

"Let's just say I don't think it's a social call. You should go; it's not safe."

"Why are men so thick? I'm not leaving you."

The tall blonde was frantically searching each room off the hall, wand tip lit to illuminate the darkness.

"You may yet regret that decision," a cold dull voice sounded from the end of the hall, its owner still in shadow. A series of sparks flew through the air and lit sconces along the wall to show a troll-like man, his vague smile revealing snarly teeth, square his shoulders at the end of the passage.

They both drew their wands, Draco stepping in front of Hermione. She was torn between annoyance and delight at his gesture.

Hermione recognized Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband, from their run-in at the Department of Mysteries. How the Death Eater had avoided capture was beyond her. She was just thinking to herself that she liked their odds when another figure slinked into the light from around the corner. She clutched Draco's arm tightly. The hunched figure of a fully grown, fully transformed, slobbering, snarling werewolf was unmistakable.

Rodolphus' smile grew more sadistic as he raised his wand to attack, and the werewolf launched itself at them. Draco's arm was wrenched from her grip and she watched him transform into a giant lion.

His animagus roared into being, its golden fur and thick brown mane flowing gently as paws the size of her head sought purchase on the wooden floor.

He leapt gracefully into the air, slamming into the werewolf just as it was about to reach them. Hermione screamed, but got a shield up in time to block the curse Rodolphus had thrown at her. The werewolf and lion became a snarling yelping mass that slid into one of the side rooms. She had not even a glance to spare for them, as Rodolphus was firing off spell after spell at her. He may move like a troll, but his wand hand had clearly seen a lot of action.

Hermione was bouncing around, as curse after curse narrowly avoided her. He had so far exploded several statues, lit a tapestry on fire, and hit almost every single painting on the wall, the occupants of which were now shouting at him.

She could not get a break long enough from shielding to throw a single stunning spell at him. She heard a particularly loud yelp from the room next door just as an eerie cold feeling crept over her fingertips. The cold spread through her hand and up her arm and she had half a minute to react before she saw the dementors bearing down on her.

Instead of seeking her happiest memory, she sought indifference. She summoned an image of billions of stars in thousands of galaxies and barely visible in one spiral arm of one of these galaxies a very ordinary star with tiny bits of debris moving around it and one little speck on one bit of debris was her, and the life or death of this speck meant, to the red dwarf two galaxies over, exactly nothing.

A moment later three black hooded figures were swarming down the hallway. Her preparations had evidently worked, as they showed no interest in her whatsoever. The Death Eater's confusion was plain, but he did not let up his attack. The dementors slowly flowed towards the room off the hallway where Draco was fighting off the werewolf.

Hermione could not afford to let her indifference fall so she made a split second decision. She knew Draco would be vulnerable to them, and she did not want to think about what they might do now that they were not under anyone's control. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ she cried, pointing her wand at the dementors' retreating backs. She enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction as a blue otter flew out of her wand and started attacking the black clad creatures.

Unfortunately this gave Rodolphus an opening, and she hissed in pain as a spell grazed her left arm, leaving a sparkling green ichor in its wake. A_t least he has bad aim_, she thought to herself_._ By now half the picture canvases were torn, and some of their occupants were actually rooting her on.

"Go for the knees!" shouted a man in a top hat who was waving his cane around in the painting right next to her.

"Kick him in the nuts!" shouted his neighbor.

"_Stupefy!" _she said, but his wrist flicking put up a shield just as fast as it had sent out hexes. His charm was not very strong however, so her spell caused him to stagger backwards a few steps.

"'Atta girl!"

They were very quickly back at stalemate, though Hermione chanced a stunning spell every now and then. She received a burn on her leg and what was, by the smell, undoubtedly a bit of singed hair for her efforts.

"_Stupefy!"_ she heard the man in the top hat in the painting behind her yell. She was about shout at him that she was trying that when she saw Rodolphus stagger back several steps.

"_Petrificus totalis!" _she cried, taking advantage of the opportunity, and he immediately fell to the floor with a thud. Hermione was about to ask the painting just how it had done magic when Castor rushed by her and into the next room. She recovered from her confusion and ran to catch up with him.

When she entered she saw the massive animals circling each other, teeth barred. The golden fur of the animagus was covered in blood, and he appeared to be favoring his back left paw. She and Castor raised their wands and sent stunning spells at the werewolf in unison. It was pushed against the back wall with a crack, and relaxed into an unmoving heap. Ropes flew out of her wand that tied the creature securely.

A moment later, Draco stood in front of her covered in blood. "Are you okay?" she asked as she started looking him over.

"Yes. This isn't my blood." Draco seemed as surprised by his good fortune as her, and bent down to take his shoe off.

"That was awesome!" Castor said once it seemed evident that everyone was okay. "Lively place you've got here!"

"Just a collection of people that want to kill me. I think I sprained it." He was testing weight on his left leg.

"Why would they want to kill you?" Castor asked as he crouched down to wrap Draco's left ankle tightly in a bandage.

"Not exactly sure," he said. Hermione thought a moment. It was true; Rodolphus hadn't said what he came for. He could also have been after the Elder Wand or something entirely different. "Thanks," the blonde said after trying to walk with more success.

"No worries, the—DON'T TOUCH THAT!" Castor's words immediately made both of his companions freeze, looking suspiciously at everything within two feet of them. "It's a permanent sticking charm," he indicated the sparkling green line on Hermione's shoulder which she had indeed been reaching for when he raised the alarm.

"That's a strange hex to use in a duel."

"Not necessarily. Imagine if you had touched it in the middle of battle; your hand would be stuck to your arm. If you were strong enough or panicked enough you might have ripped your skin right off. People that are more accustomed to household spells may be more likely to use it if forced into battle."

"Oh, was your uncle a housewife?" Hermione mused while Castor inspected her shoulder.

"It's a distinct possibility," Draco said, coming closer to look at the strange substance.

"Your _uncle_? Is that who tried to kill you?" Castor asked disbelievingly. Draco just nodded. "So would that make him my uncle too?"

Hermione and Draco exchanged glances. "Technically he'd be your step-dad."

"Oh." Castor did not probe further, instead going back to attending to Hermione.

"Welcome to the family," Draco said.

Draco wandered into the hallway where he was checking to make sure Lestrange was incapacitated when a thought occurred to Hermione. "Hang on a second," she called after him. Your animagus is a lion. As in a _Gryffindor_ lion?" The look on Draco's face was priceless and caused her to laugh at him enthusiastically.

"Well I'm glad you think it's funny," he said as she attempted to abate her laughter. "Lions are a seriously atrocious symbol for courage. You'd be brave too if you could rip a man's head off. If you want to see real courage look at the gazelle who roams the plains the lion hunts, living its life and raising its young, always alert but unafraid."

His indignation was so plain, complete with a hand on his hip and a stray hair leaping up wildly from his normally perfect mane as he spoke, that she only lasted two seconds before she started laughing again.

"Oh shut it, woman."

She started to tear, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her unaffected arm until Draco produced yet another handkerchief for her with a sour look on his face.

"I can take this off," Castor said, transfiguring a broken bit of wood into a chair for Hermione to sit on.

"I thought it was permanent?" she asked, easing into the seat.

"Permanently affixed to the skin cells it attached to, yes, but I can take off the top few layers of skin," he was drawing a thin metal wire out of the tip of his wand without touching it himself.

"Er, okay," she sounded nervous, even to her own ears. "Do you do this often then?"

"I took time off of healer's academy to come here," he smiled at her reassuringly. "I promise it won't hurt a bit. What's a Gryffindor?"

"Oh this will be fun," Draco said.

Hermione passionately launched into an explanation of Hogwarts and the four houses, their founders, and the traits each founder valued. She briefly paused to send a message to Arthur Weasley at the ministry per Draco's request, but then continued extolling the virtues of Hogwarts. For his part Castor was an excellent audience. Whenever she paused for breath he would ask a question or make a comparison between the education he had received in America and what she was telling him.

By the time ministry officials had arrived, she had practically recited the whole of _Hogwarts: A History_ to him and her shoulder was neatly bandaged. She had not even noticed Castor fixing her up while she spoke. The man was truly a wonder.

Draco had gone to await the official's arrival in the drawing room, eager to escape the impromptu history lesson, while Castor and she kept an eye on the werewolf. Draco escorted them into the room, and Hermione was relieved to see Arthur Weasley at the front of the group. She ran over to give him a hug, and tears came to her eyes at the sudden thought of all they had lost to war. Arthur was still in mourning for his son, but the Ministry had mobilized its entire staff. It was relying particularly heavily on Order members, so here he was, in the last place on Earth he probably wanted to be, collecting more worthless scum.

"Mr. Weasley it's so good to see you again." She hugged the man tightly before stepping back to get a look at him. The work of the last week and a half had worn on him. He looked tired and almost sick, but he smiled kindly down at her as always.

"Hermione, you too! Can't seem to keep away from the action, eh?"

"I guess not," she conceded.

"And who is this fine young man?" Arthur asked Castor who was still standing right next to her.

Castor extended his hand towards the red head, "Oh I'm Castor, sir, Castor Riddle."

Arthur flinched, but his smile did not diminish. He hesitated only a moment before shaking the younger man's hand. "Arthur Weasley. Pleasure to meet you."

Hermione caught the questioning glance Arthur threw at her. With a pained expression on her face she just shrugged as if to say "not now." She was relieved that the other two ministry officials were across the room when Castor spoke, but even if they hadn't heard his name, his Southern California accent stuck out like a pregnant nun. The last thing they needed was him drawing attention.

"You too! So you work for this Ministry of Magic?" Castor asked.

"Yes indeed."

"Better than the Ministry of Truth, I hope." Castor laughed lightly at his own joke that was completely lost on Arthur.

"It's from a muggle novel," Hermione supplied.

Arthur's eyes lit up at her words. "Oh! Do you live with muggles?" he asked Castor.

"Well no but from what I understand we are far more integrated into their society than witches and wizards are in Great Britain. We have very few wizarding towns and those are mostly for governance."

"Fascinating! Tell me, do you use," Arthur paused as if struggling with a very difficult word, "_ease-lectricity_?"

"Of course! It would look strange if we didn't. Besides it's easy!"

"Fascinating!" Arthur said again. The two men began to talk in detail about Castor's life in California. Arthur appeared just as interested in the lives of American muggles as he did in the lives of American witches and wizards. Perhaps it was just interest in the unknown that had driven his passion all along.

Arthur's colleagues gathered up the wizard and the werewolf, floating them one each in front of them. "I'll catch up with you later boys!" Arthur waved for them to go on without him and turned back to their conversation. Castor was trying to explain to him about surfing.

She and Draco listened politely, not wanting to abandon their guests. Evidently a place called Eugene in the state of Oregon was the wizarding capital of America. "There's a few muggles that live in the area too," Castor said, "but they all come out a little weird. Maybe there's just too much latent magic. I dunno."

Castor was complaining about having to drive—yes, drive—to Eugene because apparently in Oregon, "They won't even let you pump your own damn gas," when Arthur pried the story of how he had come to England out of him.

"Fascinating!" he said. Hermione pondered if she should offer him a quill and parchment to take notes. "So do you have family here?"

"Oh yes, Draco here is my cousin. A note was sent to my adoptive family after my father died explaining everything." Hermione could see this conversation turning down a road on which she was not ready to tread.

"Oh! So the Riddles are your adoptive family? Bad luck getting stuck with that name, eh?" Arthur laughed heartily, rolling forwards onto his toes.

"No it's actually my real father's surname. My parents insisted I keep it for some reason."

"Your real father was a Riddle?" the man asked, steadily growing more serious.

"Yes. He lived here in England." Arthur's look of recognition was obvious. "Oh! Did you know him?" Castor's childlike enthusiasm nearly brought tears to her eyes. Arthur, Draco, and Hermione all looked at each other nervously. The silence dragged on. Finally Arthur put a hand on the man's shoulder and looked like he might speak, but Hermione stopped him.

She had been privy to the memories of Tom Riddle that Harry had seen; the others had not. "Castor, your father—Tom—had a very difficult childhood." All of the men in the room turned to look at her. "He was orphaned at a young age. The muggle orphanage he grew up in was not a bad place, but he had trouble fitting in because he was… different. He didn't know he was a wizard, though he realized he could do things the other children could not. He used his abilities to retaliate against the other children who had ostracized him. He became sort of a bully." Draco snorted at the understatement; Arthur just looked at her in awe.

"Anyways, um, when he turned eleven he was accepted into Hogwarts. During the seven years he was at school he began experimenting with the Dark Arts." Castor's enthusiasm disappeared at this phrase. "He also realized he was the last heir of one of the founding fathers—Salazar Slytherin." Thanks to Hermione's history lesson, Castor did not need the ramifications of that fact explained to him. "He was very intelligent and generally liked by everyone, but I think all of those years as an orphan taught him others weren't to be trusted and lead him to self imposed solitude. He had no friends to… ground him and as a result he did t-terrible things."

Castor leaned back from her slightly, growing more and more dismayed as she spoke. "I'm not trying to make excuses for him. I'm just trying to give you the full picture," Her voice was shaking now, and she wished the sparse furniture in the room had not all been destroyed by the fight hours previous. "He became p-power hungry and obsessed with immortality. As Slytherin's heir he gathered followers who believed, like him, that magic should be kept in all-magic families." She took a steadying breath. "He gathered many followers and became incredibly powerful. He has led a campaign of terror against muggles and muggle-borns for the last three decades and only recently have we been able to defeat him."

They all looked at Castor now, who was staring off at nothing. The father in Arthur Weasley was once again drawn to the young man, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "I know it's a lot to take in, son."

The young man looked at her after a moment, the dismay heartbreakingly written on his face. "So is that what you were talking with your friends about today?" He turned to face Draco. "Is that why you set your house elf to watch my every move? You think I've come to pick up where he left off?" There was a hint of panic in his voice, and he looked like he might be sick.

"No—we didn't know," Hermione said.

He moaned and covered his face with his hand. "I should never have come. I'll just get my things and go."

He started to leave the room, but Arthur imposed himself in front of the exit. "Castor, it is all still near for us. The war was less than two weeks ago. I lost a son, and we've all lost friends. We're all far too sensitive and overreacting." His voiced cracked when he mentioned Fred, and the tears in his eyes gave Castor a moment of redress. "Besides, anyone that has spent two minutes in your company could tell you are _nothing_ like your father."

"Please don't go," Draco added. "You're the only family I have left that hasn't gone insane or tried to kill me recently."

Castor turned to look at them all. Hermione tried to make her face say "I don't think you're the devil incarnate, promise."

"That ringing endorsement aside, I think I would like some time alone."

"Whatever you need," the blonde replied openly. Castor resumed his egress, nodding at Arthur as he stepped around him.

Hermione waited until he was well out of earshot. "That was awful."

"It could have been a lot worse," Draco pointed out. "How do you know so much about Tom Riddle?"

"Dumbledore shared several of his memories about Riddle with Harry, and Harry told Ron and me."

"I can see you have analyzed him in detail. That was a lot more than mindless recitation of a memory." Arthur's tone was suddenly very serious, as if he was just now realizing the extent of what Harry, Hermione, and his son had set out to do in the year previous.

"We had to."

He simply nodded at her before turning to Draco. "I'm so sorry to hear about your father. You have my condolences."

He looked as surprised by the older man's words as she felt. "Oh, thank you."

"Do you need help with anything? Making arrangements maybe?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "God yes! I have no idea what I'm doing." He pulled a piece of parchment out of his back pocket. It had writing all over it in all different directions. Half of it was scratched out or written over, and a large amount of it was covered with standalone four letter words.

Despite the late hour, Arthur patiently answered Draco's questions. A stranger sight she had not seen, but she found herself listening intently to the information. She realized she would be as lost as Draco if her parents died that moment and she had to plan their funeral. She didn't even know where they wanted to be buried.

Arthur was shaking his head at Draco, who had been agonizing over a 'guest list' for the services. "No, no you don't make a guest list for a funeral." Even she knew that much. "You'll want to owl an obituary to the paper—er, try to focus on the positive things—and that should also announce the time and date of the services. Now your father's assets: I'm assuming they will fall to your mother, but I understand she is also quite ill?"

"Yes."

"Did she have a power of attorney?" Arthur asked an increasingly overwhelmed Draco, who just shrugged. "If she didn't, that job would fall to you as her next-of-kin. Unfortunately since your father was in prison and your mother is temporarily incapacitated with no specified agent you will probably run into a lot of red tape. I've got a few friends in Legal that owe me; I'll see what I can do to speed things up."

Once they were done planning, Arthur insisted Draco owl him if he needed more help. The younger man shook his hand, a look of relief and admiration on his face as he gave the man his thanks. "Thank you for rescuing my daughter," Arthur said in reply.

"It was nothing." Draco said.

"Is the ministry looking into Borgin and Burke?" Hermione asked.

"Have been for centuries."

"I meant the illicit potions Borgin and Burke Junior are cooking up."

"As a matter of fact yes," Arthur said with a nod.

"Do you think that's wise?" Draco spoke with alarm. "So soon after Ginny escaped; they might make the connection to her."

"That is a concern. As it stands they appear to have assumed she threw off a poorly administered imperious curse and gave them the slip, and that she has been too frightened to tell anyone. Also in our favor is that no one really knows what my position is in the Ministry."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed with delight. "You've been promoted!"

"The first order of business of the new Minister of Magic. I'm now the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Arthur smiled with well-deserved pride, excited to have been able to tell someone, and both Draco and Hermione congratulated him. "The Minister has been trying to recruit Molly ever since she killed Bellatrix, but she insists on staying home while there are children there. I suppose I can't blame her."

He trailed off, staring at a spot on the floor until Hermione spoke up. "So, the drugs?"

"Oh right. It seems that there are more things afoot at Borgin and Burke's than just illegal potions."

"Oh?"

"There's been 'chatter.'"

"'Chatter,'" she repeated.

"Unfortunately it's too difficult to get an agent into the place very often. Right now we are watching and waiting and flying blind for the most part. But!" he clapped his hands as he said the last word, "nothing for you kids to worry about. I'm sure it will work itself out. I best be getting along now."

They both escorted him to the drawing room so he could floo back. Hermione gave him one last hug with instructions to pass it on to Ginny, and Draco gave him one last handshake before he stepped into the green flames.

"He's very nice," Draco said as they left the room.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I've learned by now to assume that the opposite of what my father told me will be the truth. I just never expected him to be _that_ nice—and helpful."

"Well, me either to be honest, and I thought you'd sent a letter to the morgue with instructions earlier today?"

"Yes, it said 'Stand by.'"

"You were writing it for two hours!"

"They were several rough drafts."

Hermione laughed and took his arm, and they walked along in companionable silence.


	14. Broke

Chapter 14 — Broke

* * *

Severus knew this dream.

He ought to; he'd had it a hundred times before.

He sat in the small depressed living room of his dreary home in Cokeworth. The fire hiding behind its wrought iron grate was reduced to mere embers, and ash was being blown back into his house by the forceful wind that seeped in through the chimney.

He had not had a visitor for months, nor left the house for weeks. Books were his constant companions. They provided hours of entertainment and didn't judge him like people always did. His days were a comfortable, methodical routine.

In his dream he was always reflecting on how perfectly content he was when a sudden, desperate loneliness overcame him.

His chair would disappear from underneath him, leaving him splayed on an unyielding floor looking up at an oppressively plain ceiling. The sadness was would crush his chest and he would struggle just to breath.

One by one, the numerous books on the walls around him would start to fade, followed by the sparse furniture. The fireplace would fly away from him and explode into its component parts, suspended briefly in midair before disappearing as well.

Though the house did not hold happy memories it was all he had, and in his last moments before he passed out from the throes of melancholy bearing down on him he saw it being taken away from him.

"I see you," the voice of an angel would say to him then, willing him to rise from the dark. "I'll always see you."

He would come back from the depths of oblivion to find wild jade eyes beckoning him forward. He was no longer in his living room, and when he stepped out of the swirling mists he would see Lily, and they were young and in love.

Then they did what any young couple caught in the oblivious of love would do: they danced.

Music and voices would surround them as they swirled around the dance floor. He would laugh with a joy he had not felt in his corporeal life, awed at the gentle soul in front of him so willing to embrace one who broke so long ago, and always woke up with a burning desire betwixt his nethers that demanded urgent attention.

Ten years ago that had been his dream. The version he was blissfully caught in tonight was different in some key areas. It was not Lily's face that held the green eyes beckoning him from solitude but her son's, and they were definitely not dancing.

The aftereffects of the dream were the same, however, so when he woke it was to a painful burning desire and raging erection. He began to reach down to touch himself but a shooting pain coursed through his shoulder and into his arm, halting any movement immediately.

It was the pain the reminded him where he was, and what he had just dreamt about, and who was likely sitting next to him at that moment reading his every thought. Severus had only a moment to hope that Harry had slept through his episode when he heard a soft voice across the clouded darkness of the room: "Let me help you."

Severus froze as the young man sitting next to him moved closer and pushed his covers aside slightly. The cool air of the room felt crisp on his skin and ice cold fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock caused a sharp inhalation of breath.

"Sorry," Harry said with a gentle laugh. "They'll warm up."

His companion released his hold slightly and ghosted his fingers up and down his taught skin. Severus looked on in stunned silence.

"Is this okay?" Harry asked with a pang of doubt when Severus remained stoic.

He thought he should probably—no, definitely say no. He thought the young man must be confused, or delusional, or insane. These thoughts, however, were immediately drowned out by a chorus of voices sounding gleefully off every gleaming surface in his mind: _'Yes! Yes! Yes! For the love of Merlin YES!'_

Harry instantaneously acquired a very Slytherin-worthy smirk and continued his ministrations, muttering a lubricating spell before gripping him firmly, twisting up and down his hardness and finally eliciting the slightest whimper from Severus' slips. The older man closed his eyes and rested his head back, too awash with pleasure to remain stoic or righteously indignant or any other emotion that had flitted through his mind in the last few seconds.

Harry paid particular attention to the ridge of his cock, pausing periodically to circle his coarse thumb around his tip so gentle and caring. It had been so long since someone else had touched him, and he was not sure anyone had ever touched him quite like that. He was rigid and tense with pleasure when a chilled softness touched his cheek.

His eyes opened slowly to find Harry's hand resting gently on his face and the younger man's eyes drinking up the sight of him with a feral affection that nearly sent him over the edge.

He was quite certain no one had ever looked at him like that before.

Desire dripped off Harry and the youth aimed a single thought at him: _'Come for me.'_ His mind bristled at the mental contact, which seemed to only deepen with the physical and visual contact they had.

The mental version he felt of Harry was lounging about like a simpering minx when it shot a razor sharp crystal clear image directly into his mind. From the detail alone he would have sworn it a memory did he not himself know it to be untrue: he was in bed on his hands and knees, his face inches from well worn rosy sheets, and the younger man was pounding into his own ass, squeezing a handful of his long black hair while scratching his other hand down his back, screaming his name as he lost control inside of him.

This in turn set Severus off, and he exploded his load as his groin compressed in orgasm, ripples of pleasure flying in all directions, and he lay helplessly riding them out until he could move again.

Once he was able, he forced one eye to open at look at Harry, whose mind voice had been curiously quiet. He was still holding onto him, his hand covered in sticky warmth, still looking at him in a manner that could only be described as lovingly. Once he opened the other eye, he caught a mental image of Harry bending down to lick the wetness from his hands. To his relief, he opted for a simple vanishing spell instead.

Severus was still speechless. Harry reluctantly let him go and set his blankets right, tucking him in carefully with a wan smile. Briefly, the image Harry had sent him of them together in bed slipped to the front of his mind. The resulting blush on the younger man's cheeks was all Severus needed to make the guilty panic set it.

_What have I done? I had sex with a student—Lily's son!_

Harry was already close, so not a second later he was grabbing Severus' shoulders, neither of them noticing the pain he was causing, and hissing at the man in the dark: "I have not been your student for over a year. We are both consenting adults. You needed release, and I helped you obtain it. We have done nothing wrong."

Harry's eyes glittered as they searched Severus' face, and he began to sense that Harry was as much in need of this reassurance as he was. Certainly he didn't think Harry had done anything wrong. In fact… nevermind, he could not indulge those thoughts at the present time so he simply answered with a curt nod.

"And you are not broken."

* * *

Hermione flipped open the copy of the _Prophet_ the owl had dropped onto her lap while she was reaching for a biscuit, trying to find the obituary she knew would be in today's paper.

* * *

LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY

July 4, 1954 – May 11, 1998

Lucius Malfoy, aged 44, died this past Tuesday at his estate in Wiltshire. He was born the son of Abraxas and Astoria Malfoy (née Absalom) in London, England, and graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1972 where he was a Prefect of the House of Slytherin and member of the Slug Club.

Lucius was President and CEW of several notable family businesses including Malfoy and Sons Part and Parcel Parchment Co., The Malfoy House of Antiquities, The Ladies of Wiltshire Catering, and Malfoy's Apiarists, Inc.. He is survived by his wife Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) and son Draco. Service are to be held 4 o'clock Saturday next at Prewitt's House of Tears.

* * *

"Your family owns a parchment company?" she asked her frowning companion doubtfully.

Draco's dark face rose from the letter he was perusing. "Well they don't grow on trees, you know."

"I know; I just expected your family's business to be more…"

"Exciting?" he supplied.

"Well, yeah."

"They didn't last centuries by being exciting."

Hermione raised a single eyebrow in concession. It was easy to forget that when she was caught up in dramatics there were ordinary people carrying on with their ordinary lives, and that people needed boxes just as much with Voldemort in power as they did before.

As she read the rest of the paper she noticed the blonde's growing consternation at whatever he was reading. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to peek at the paper in front of him.

"It's the 'notable family businesses,'" he said. "Their employees seem to be under the impression that they should be paid."

She moved closer to him and blatantly stared over his shoulder. "Don't they have someone to take care of that?"

"Apparently the final authorization always came from my father. He was not a very trusting man."

"Well what did they do while he was in Azkaban?"

"They've been using their reserves to keep things up and running which is why they are so desperate now. Unfortunately all of our assets were frozen pending litigation that will no longer take place only to now be frozen pending the outcome of an _in absentia_ competency hearing for my mother, where they will then be frozen until an enduring power of attorney can be declared, where they will inevitably go on to be caught in more spellotape."

"In English?"

"I'm broke."

"Oh no!"

"'Oh no' indeed. No wonder my father had gone crazy." Draco looked with disgust at the pile of legal papers that continued to grow as more owls arrived. "Maybe I should have let him kill me after all."

"Hush. I don't want to hear you talking like that again. These people are counting on you to help them. Besides, you know who can help you with all of… this," she waved her hands inclusively at the stack of parchment in front of them. He stared at her blankly. "Arthur Weasley of course. He offered, and I would be surprised if he wasn't looking into it already."

"I really don't want to bother him."

"Well luckily this isn't about what you want; it's about what your employees need."

He eventually nodded his agreement with a sour look and sent an owl off to Arthur at the Ministry. Since Harry was still in need of Occlumency lessons and Draco wanted to visit his mother, they agreed to forestall NEWT preparations in lieu of a visit to the hospital.

A strange tension filled the air when they entered Severus' hospital room. When they arrived Harry was not even there. This was enough of a surprise but when he did not return several minutes of small talk later she asked Severus about it.

"You may need to go and fetch him. I believe he's gone to the fifth floor."

Hermione nodded, and left Draco alone with him to make the trip up to the lounge on the fifth floor where she indeed found Harry sipping at tea and reading a book.

"Something must have gone wrong. You're reading of your own volition," she said, startling the raven haired reader out of his thoughts.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I simply wanted to test our need for proximity given Severus' imminent release," was his explanation as he stood to accompany her back to the fourth floor, but she became even more suspicious of his words when they returned. He and Severus were completely avoiding eye contact. She hoped this didn't mean they had had a row.

Draco was eager to proceed with their Occlumency lessons, so he and Harry were once again at each other's wand tips soon after they returned. Once Harry starting building up shields, Draco suggested he and Severus try shielding against each other again.

After several failed attempts, the blonde suggested they synchronize their shielding, drawing mirror opposite pictures with their minds. This was an improvement, but still didn't stick. "Try drawing your shields to meet at points instead of wrapping them like a cocoon," Draco said calmly as the other two men's agitation grew.

They drew zigzag shapes around their minds, each trying to mirror the other's movements. This provided the most success, and they each enjoyed a full minutes of respite until their shields came crashing down.

"Try putting your shields on each other," Hermione said on whim, recalling something she had read in the medical record of the litigant healer and his patient. "And try meeting at each point at exactly the same time."

Harry gave her a dirty look. "And how exactly are we supposed to do _that_?"

She nibbled at her lower lip.

"Sing a song of course," a calm voice said from behind her. Hermione whirled on her heal to see Luna outlined in the doorway, smiling her esoteric smile with her head cocked slightly to one side. "Use the rhythm. Meet on the counts. Oh I just came by to bring you some Madeleine's."

They had all turned to look at the young Ravenclaw. "That might work," Harry said, to which Severus nodded, gratefully accepted the Madeline's, and to her surprise invited Luna to stay.

Since the Hogwarts theme was sung to whatever tune one desired and Severus as not a Quidditch fan the only song they found they both knew was "O Canada." Harry insisted everyone join in the revelry as his singing was atrocious and soon the entire room, save Severus, was belting out the Canadian National Anthem like drunks at a pub.

The first indication something had changed was that Harry's voice grew quiet and the two men stared at each other dumb founded.

Once the room had quieted down Harry spoke: "I had begun to think that was permanent." He and Severus sat giving each other strange looks in an awkward silence.

Draco invited Hermione to accompany him to visit his mother with a meaningful look she figured she should probably have been able to read. She left Luna behind with the two men without guilt as she doubted very much anything could make her feel uncomfortable.

"Didn't you want to speak with Andrell?" Draco said once they were headed down the hallway.

"Andrell?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"About the Delicium spell?"

"Oh goodness! How could I forget?"

The pair split up to go their separate ways. She found Andrell in the lab, pointy nose stuck over his potion. "They've learnt to shield each other out," she said by way of greeting.

Andrell snapped his head up, clearly surprised to have company, but recovered quickly. "That's wonderful news! I should be able to release Professor Snape today then." He stood with purpose and headed for the door, golden robes billowing in his wake.

"There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"I found a spell I think might help do what your potion is trying to do." She immediately had his undivided attention and produced the careworn journal she had temporarily liberated from the hospital's medical library. If the healer recognized it, he didn't comment.

"This here. The Delicium spell, incantation Dilectio, I believe it reverses the effects of the Cruciatus curse, at least to a certain extent. It could be used alone or perhaps in conjunction with your potion. I've already tested it on Draco and his synaptic response improved measurably."

Andrell studied the document, and then her, in silent awe. "And was the improvement permanent?"

"I haven't checked again. There is obviously a lot of research that still needs to be done."

"I don't understand," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't understand?" she asked after he failed to elaborate.

"This journal is from our library, yes? Why don't we know about this spell?"

"Well I thought it may have fallen out of living memory, like the Cruciatus curse did until Voldemort popularized it."

He shook his head again. "I can name and produce the cures for diseases that haven't manifested in thousands of years. It makes no sense that this knowledge would not have been passed on."

Hermione had no response to this, so she just shrugged her shoulders. "I think the important thing is we have it now. It's worth at least looking into."

"Of course, of course. Can you show me?"

She froze and flushed bright red. She hadn't expected a request for a demonstration. The effect of the spell were so personal, she couldn't think of herself trying it on Andrell. Come to think of it she couldn't think of trying it on anyone but Draco. "Well you see, there's a complication. As the opposite of the Cruciatus curse it's a pleasure-inducing spell. It… er… causes great pleasure… _everywhere_, if you know what I mean."

"I see." He was frowning again. "And yet you think it advisable for me to use it on a patient?"

"Well, in a professional capacity."

"But you could not use it on me in a professional capacity. And we are both cognizant. I have patients who were tortured to insanity by the Cruciatus curse; do you advise me to use it on them? Even if it would cure them?"

Hermione hadn't thought that far ahead, and mentally berated herself now. The witch scratched her head, saying the first thing that came to mind: "The Longbottoms."

"Well, yes. How do you—?"

"Their son Neville was in our year at Hogwarts. That's part of what got me so interested in your research."

"I see. So you know what I'm dealing with."

"Andrell, I don't have all the answers. You're the brightest mediwizard I know. That's why I brought this to you."

The man stood up slightly straighter at her compliment, though his doubt still showed. "Very well. Leave this with me. I have a colleague I may be able to look into it with. And it may be possible to target the spell to certain areas to avoid any… unwanted side effects."

She nodded and handed the journal over, making a mental note to test Draco again as soon as she could to make sure the effects of the spell had staying power.

Hermione accompanied Andrell back to Snape's room. When they arrived Luna was making pleasant idle chatter and Draco was reading a piece of parchment, thought he looked up upon her entry and mouthed the phrase "No change" to her unasked question.

The healer immediately put on a cheerful face, all distress and doubt erased in an instant. "So how is our patient feeling today?"

"You already asked me that."

"So I did! I understand you have made progress in Occlumency?" the question was directed at both Harry and Severus, and both men nodded. "Then I should be able to release you, provided you have someone to look after you."

"I can look after him," Harry said immediately.

"The entire point of you occluding was that you would no longer be tied to me."

"I don't mind being tied to you."

Severus looked scandalized but soon recovered. "Be that as it may, I have arranged to take up my old residence at Hogwarts. There are house elves that can attend to me."

"You mean leave you alone and stay out of your way."

"I don't see the distinction."

Andrell held up a hand to forestall further arguments. "I would have to agree with Mr. Potter. I much prefer you had human company that was aware of your situation."

"You're always more than welcome at the Manor, Snape, you know that," Draco said then raised his eyes to meet Harry's, "as are you."

"An excellent suggestion!" Andrell said sounding more chipper. The potions master looked like he might object, but the healer continued immediately: "And then when Narcissa is able to come home you can aid each other in your recoveries. She will need you too, Professor, and may I remind you this release is conditional and at my discretion."

The patient's agitation turned to stiffened dignity as he replied, "Very well," and then proceeded to ignore the healer as he rattled off an extensive list of instructions. Harry, however, was actually taking notes.

Draco pulled Hermione and Luna over to the table to have a quiet discussion. "Arthur Weasley came through."

"What? Already?"

"Yes! Can you believe it? He's transferred all of my father's assets—bank accounts, businesses, stocks, everything—into my mother's name with me as acting agent and her temporary guardian," he was excited and smiling for the first time all day.

"That's wonderful! We'd better get you back home," Hermione said, thinking he would want to sort everything out straightaway.

"Yes, but first I want to return the favor. Luna, I need your help again."

Hermione glanced at the blonde witch who was huddled close next to her, taking in all of the information with wide eyes. She looked at Draco curiously but nodded her head.

"Return the favor?" Hermione asked.

"Just see if I can get any information for him. He's done so much for me already."

Two black eyes and a blue snout picked that moment to peek out of Luna's pocket and look at her excitedly, and she remembered the last place the two had gone off to together: Borgin and Burke's. She shook her head. "It's too dangerous."

"Actually it's a bit dangerous to have not returned. They're just as likely to connect our appearance with Ginny's disappearance as they are her with getting caught. Luna gives me credibility, but of course you don't have to go if you wouldn't feel safe, Luna."

Hermione glared at him, but Luna was nodding her head.

"Of course I'll go, Draco. They have the most fascinating things!" her creature pet nuzzled her hand affectionately.

"How exactly does Luna give you credibility?" she asked skeptically.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her bluntness. "She comes from a much respected pureblood line, and besides, she's a girl."

This was all news to Hermione, at least the part about her vetted pureblood status. "My mother was an Absalom," Luna said wistfully, "the keepers of peace."

"Absalom, like your grandmother? So you two are related?" Hermione asked Draco.

"Yes I suppose distantly. Most of the purebred lines are somehow related anyway."

They sounded more like inbred lines to her, but she kept her own council on the matter. Instead Hermione wished them safe passage and went ahead to the Manor to help a house-elf called Flixxie ready "the blue room" for her Professor.

Flixxie reminded Hermione vaguely of Tonks. She had electric blue hair, piercings up and down her long pointy ears, and spunk. Her dark green skin set off the bright pink stud in her nose that matched her magenta eyes. The tiny creature's hair was bundled in two pigtails near the top of her head with a skull-tipped headband securing her fringe in place. The most shocking thing, however, was when the house-elf referred to herself as, "I."

"I'll be preparing the potions lab as well. Master Snape will want to use that," Flixxie said once the bed was turned down, the pillows fluffed, freshly warmed towels set out, and several bedside tables and chairs set up should Snape have visitors.

Hermione nodded, and smiled, and mentally chided herself for being so ill at ease with such a head-strong elf. That was what SPEW had been all about, after all.

When the elf did not return several minutes later, she went to look in on a still jet-lagged Castor before opting to wait for Snape's arrival in the drawing room. She picked up a book that looked like it was a read-in-progress for Narcissa Malfoy, the cover depicting an overly-muscled wizard in a pointy hat and tattered robes that barely clung to him: a romance novel, then.

She was just beginning to descend into fantasy when flames erupting in the fireplace heralded the arrival of a coughing, stomping, swearing Harry. Snape followed immediately thereafter, far more gracefully but clearly pained by the effort of travel.

They were able to get him settled in with minimal fuss and he immediately inquired after Draco. She was trying not to think about what trouble the sneaky Slytherin might have gotten himself into as he had not yet returned. At this news Snape gave her an appraising look. "Miss Granger would you be so kind as to run an errand for me?"

Hermione was taken aback by being addressed by her Professor, let alone being asked a favor of. "Oh… yes of course."

"I was working on a potion before my illness that may or may not have survived. Could I trouble you to bring it here? I would like very much to see if I might salvage it."

"I'll go right away, is it—?"

"In my laboratory at Hogwarts just off of my private quarters. Any house-elf can show you the way. The password is '_lilium.' _And take Potter with you."

Harry was returning Snape's contemptuous glare with a curious expression, and after waiting politely for several moments she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Ready?" she asked, but took them to the apparation point in Hogsmeade before he could reply.

"That's curious," Harry said as they strode briskly to the castle looming in the distance.

"What, Snape trusting us with something of his?"

"Well, that too. But I could swear I had a dream about a potion in his quarters when he was asleep. I suppose given the circumstances it may have been more than a dream."

They both unconsciously slowed their gait as they approached the castle's great iron grates. She had already been back here twice, once to speak to Professor McGonagall on Snape's behalf and once to retrieve his memories, but it still felt like walking into a nightmare. The normally lush greens were charred and littered with rubble. Men in coveralls scurried all over the grounds, trying to return the castle to its former glory.

Harry's haunted face quickly turned neutral as he received the thanks and handshakes from the sprinkling of workers that recognized him as they walked. She sighed with relief when they made it through the enormous oak doors at the front entrance without incident.

"Where is everybody?" Harry asked.

While outside was bustling with workers, the halls inside were deserted. It appeared they had prioritized readying Hogwart's interior before attending to the grounds, as it looked much the same as it had before. "In classes?" she hazarded.

"Let's just get this over with."

They went to move in opposite directions and collided with each other. "Where are you going?" he asked, rubbing his nose where he had hit it against her forehead.

"Where are you going?"

"The dungeons."

"The headmaster's office." They had both answered at the same time. "Silly, Snape was headmaster when he was here last. His quarters would be up there."

"I suppose that makes sense," Harry said, even nodding his head in agreement, "but my dream was definitely in the dungeons."

They both looked up and down the main hallway, as if expecting to a sign stating "Snape's Potion This Way."

"Let's ask a house-elf," she finally said, but became perplexed once again. "House elf?" she started to say when Harry interrupted her.

"Kreacher!"

With a crack, the creature in question appeared before them, bowing deeply. "What can Kreacher do for Master Harry today?"

"Could you show us to where Professor Snape has his private potions lab?" Harry asked. "Please?"

"Of course, of course. Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The wizened old elf reached up to take one of Harry's fingers, guiding him along as Dobby had once, with a fondness and familiarity that brought a tear to her eye and a small sad smile to her companion's face.

Unsurprisingly, he led them towards the Dungeons. They came to a particularly ordinary looking door that Kreacher indicated with an inclusive wave. Harry spoke the password and it swung open with a creek, displacing a fair amount of dust.

She sneezed in triplicate while following the pair in front of her through the front-of-house to a side room that held what could only be Potions Master Severus Snape's private lab. While everything else about his quarters was dark and laced with creature comforts, the lab was white washed and utilitarian. A single wooden table lined three walls and a lone stool was tucked under it. Above the entire length of the table were cupboards filled neatly with cauldrons, boilers, cutting boards, and probably every potions ingredient known to man.

The table was meticulously clean and empty save one golden cauldron in the corner that was set over a low flame. It had protective charms around it to prevent the table catching fire, but she didn't detect any sort of stasis charms. As she stepped closer she began coughing. She wasn't sure what this mysterious potion was supposed to smell like, but she was pretty sure it was not the pungent odor wafting up her nose at that moment.

She quickly turned off the burner and vanished the empty space in front of her until it was replaced with breathable air. She held her finger to the cauldron, and, feeling no heat radiating off of it, touched it tentatively. Her hand met no resistance; indeed the wards had failed.

Upon closer inspection she saw a hairline crack in the beautiful gold surface, running from the left handle to the very bottom. She was surprised none of the contents had leaked out, but then a cauldron of this quality probably had magic wards to prevent spillage built into it.

"It's ruined," Harry observed with a hint of panic in his voice.

"I'm sure Professor Snape can start again. It must be something experimental if _he _didn't manage to make it. He'll probably have notes somewhere."

They pillaged around the cupboards until a minute later Kreacher came waddling in with a portfolio in his outstretched arms. "Will these be the notes Master is looking for?"

Harry leafed through them so she could see.

Luckily Snape kept his notes dated, and the dates corresponded to when he would have been setting up his experiment. "Yes, Kreacher, thank you," Hermione said.

The elf squinted at her slightly, like a dog getting scratched under its chin, as a way of acknowledgement. "Will Master be needing anything else?"

"No, Kreacher, thank you."

"Well I suppose we had better bring this to Snape."

"Right," Harry said forlornly and went to pick up the cauldron.

"Are you insane? That's pure gold; it must weigh over five hundred pounds!" Hermione quickly set wards and an inertial neutralizing field around the cauldron before taking out her wand to carefully float it in front of her.

Once out in the hallway she was ready to float it up or away should Harry spontaneously be thronged with a flock of admirers. Luckily classes seemed to still be in session, as they hardly saw anyone.

The one person they did see was Professor Trelawney. She appeared to have taken over Dumbledore's former position of Most Flamboyant Dresser, having shed her earthy tones for bright blues with chartreuse accents.

Hermione walked toward her with a growing sense of dread; she had not spoken to the woman since she'd walked out on her class. Trelawney, however, completely ignored them until Harry spoke up. "Hello Professor Trelawney." She could have kicked him.

To her relief she simply nodded at them amicably and drifted along. They were nearly out the door when she heard the witch's voice call out, "Oh my dear Miss Granger. You can't see the trees for the forest," in a sympathetic tone. By the time she looked, the woman was gone.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea. Let's get out of here before she can make any more predictions."

They reached the apparation point with minimal fuss and minutes later she was at Snape's bedside. "I'm afraid it broke," she said sheepishly, showing him the crack in the ruined pot of potion. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I brought your notes in case you wanted to start over again, and I would be happy to help should you desire assistance."

"Very well. Thank you for retrieving it," was all the dour man said before dismissing her to put the remnants of the potion in the lab that was set up for him.

His sour mood was catching, and she only grew more agitated when she discovered that while Draco had come home safely from his mission with Luna he had immediately been called to settle some dispute amongst his bee keepers and was not expected back for quite some time.

She was unsurprised to find Harry looking lost when she decided to head to the library. "He kick you out too?" she asked.

"Wanted some alone time."

"Just as well. We have studying to do," she said and hooked her arm into his.

They reached the library to find Luna, presumably where Draco had deposited her to await Hermione's return, whose face lit up as she was talking—no, laughing—no, _flirting_ with Castor, who appeared to have been spontaneously cured of his jet lag. She gave her friend a scandalized smile.

"Oh hello Harry and Hermione," Luna greeted them. "I was just telling Castor here about Diagon Alley."

"Luna's agreed to show me around England!" the American spoke garishly. "I know you all will be busy with studying."

Harry looked like he might object, so Hermione cut in, "That would be wonderful of you Luna," which she followed up with an elbow to her companion's ribs. "Make sure you show him the Shrieking Shack."

"It's the most haunted building in Britain. I'll do that!"

After Harry made sure he knew where the couple was going by covertly suggesting a few more places they visit, Castor and Luna departed to use the floo network.

"She can take care of herself you know."

"I know that, I just… I know that."

"Oh pish-tosh."

Once they were settled in for studying she sent an owl to Ron for him to meet them at the Manor. She had been surprised at Draco's insistence that Ron and anyone else she wished come study with them. Now if only Draco could get away long enough to do the same they might all pass their NEWTs and be able to focus on the few classes they had elected to take during the upcoming school year.


	15. Dissuasion

Chapter 15 — Dissuasion

* * *

It was late in the afternoon before Ron showed up and nearly nightfall by the time Draco returned home.

When the redhead had arrived she had taken him aside and was surprised when he initiated the "let's just be friends" conversation. It was just as well. They were entirely wrong for each other romantically, but somehow the friendship between Harry, Ron, and herself felt as needed now as it was before Voldemort.

Draco returned highly agitated complaining about the "incompetent idiots" running his father's companies. "A chimpanzee could do better!" he huffed before collapsing into a chair next to her and cracking open a book.

"So how did it go with Luna?" she asked after Draco had been reading the same page for ten minutes.

"Luna?" Ron asked.

"We went back to Borgin and Burke's to see if we could get any new information," the Slytherin said dismissively.

"Oh! So you've got it again?"

"Well, yeah."

"And I suppose you won't be using it again?"

"Well, no… oh alright here take it." Draco pulled a small vial with powdery residue out of his breast pocket and handed it to Ron with a sour face.

The words in their conversation finally clicked and she jumped out of her chair in anger.

"You game him illegal potions?!"

The two men froze mid-reach, like God reaching out to Adam in the Sistine Chapel. She suspected, however, that God and Adam were not passing each other drugs.

"And you took them?!"

The second question was directed at Ron, to which he brilliantly replied, "Well, I, er…"

"It's only Doxy Dust," Draco said defensively.

"That's the gateway potion! Give it to me, now." The witch stood with one hand on her hip and one outstretched to them, her pursed lips twitching as if wanting to shout a bit more.

"And what are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to hand it over to your father, Ronald."

Draco seemed to find his voice: "If you think I'm going to let you walk around with felony quantities of illicit potions…"

"Oh yes because I've never traipsed around Britain with anything illegal before: a human skeleton… bits of someone else's soul… a stolen historical artifact..."

She was still glaring them down and holding out her hand, like some sort of golden girl action pose. Reluctantly they moved as one to hand her the vial. "Is that all then?"

She knew Draco well enough by now to spot the infinitesimal look of guilt that shot across his face. "Hand it over."

He complied, looking for all the world like a scolded school boy. Ron followed the exchange like a puppy eying a treat and was actually licking his lips. What had he gotten himself into? The dolt.

She glanced at Harry, who was trying to conceal amusement, before disapparating with one final "Harrumph."

* * *

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to once again dismiss Potter without sounding too harsh.

The moment the youth's mental barriers had descended over his mind he was plunged into an eerie silence, and the relief at being left alone with his thoughts could not be put into words. Since that moment all he wanted to do was be alone, but he was oppressively aware that it was not his considerable skill in Occlumency keeping the world at bay and did not want to gamble his new found solitude on the temperament of a seventeen year old.

After several blissful moments of silence, during which he attempted to doze off, he realized he was not tired for the first time since he had woken. In fact he was immediately antsy and tired of being abed, so he slowly got up and shuffled next door to see what had become of his masterpiece.

The lone golden cauldron sitting in the corner indeed had the fine crack Hermione had spoken of. When the witch had first arrived with it Severus thought, by her frazzled look, she may have come to deliver news that it had blown up the dungeons. He was relieved to hear it had merely broken. Experimental potions were nearly always brewed in gold cauldrons as they would fracture at the slightest hint of impurity: a desired effect when one was contemplating consuming the contents of said vessel.

When he removed the protective enchantments on the cauldron he discovered just how egregious the breach had been. He held his breath as the fetid stench diffused mercilessly throughout the room, but he had only a moment to founder before a house elf showed up to help him clear the air.

The squat little fellow had sideburns and a Mohawk and peered at him over a pair of square metal frames. "Dewbie, at your service," he had explained with a deep bow before activating the room's ventilation system and disapparating.

Severus found his notes and quickly set up to start brewing. Every time he wanted for some bit of equipment he would have been hard pressed to find in the foreign laboratory the house elf would pop in — literally — mark the location of the item with a glowing star, and pop out again. He was beginning to wonder if the little man could read past Potter's shields.

After hours of brewing he was mentally exhausted and physically sore from the peeling, chopping, mincing, and shucking, but was quite satisfied with the opaque green liquid he stirred twenty-seven times counterclockwise before separating it into five different solid gold cauldrons: one benefit of brewing at the Manor he intended to taking full advantage of.

Content with his work, he hobbled back to his quarters and creaked into bed, fully intent on catching up on one of the _Potions Quarterly _that had appeared on his bedside table that morning. Instead, his overexerted body pulled him deeply into sleep, periodical in hand and tongue lolling out.

Were he not out cold, he may have woken to an amused looking raven-haired youth gently extracting his reading material from his grasp and tucking him in. He was also blissfully oblivious to the kiss bestowed upon his forehead while his snoozing mind pulled him through a torrential dreamland.

* * *

Hermione did not return to the Manor that night. Nor the next.

After paying Arthur Weasley a visit to hand over the contraband she split her time between helping in Andrell's lab and brooding in the tent that had been her home for nine months. Every errant cot spring digging into her back as she slept served to fuel her irritation at her irresponsible friends.

Andrell, bless his heart, seemed to sense her mood and obfuscated his traditional Dumbledorian niceties in favor of setting her straight to work. Instead of brewing he had her running tests on several different versions of the potion he had created, at first on poor helpless mice but eventually sent her down to the morgue.

He showed her how the small metal doors of the refrigerators were marked for witches and wizards that had donated their body to science. He showed her how to verify the paperwork legalizing the "anatomical gift" and, by name and physical description, that it was indeed the right personage before beginning experiments.

After further procedural instructions he left her alone to the blissful silence and solitude of the unexpected antiseptic sanctuary. She had never been so happy to be surrounded by dead bodies in her life.

After the war, their cold unmoving presence no longer bothered her, and unlike Riddle's father they had fully consented to what she was doing.

Her short time working for Andrell had made her realize medical research was probably not the best profession for her, as the poor screeching mice upstairs had given her flashbacks of Moody torturing spiders with unforgivable curses in her fourth year. Still, she was happy with the work she was doing at the present time, and having a small source of income was nice. She was no longer supported by her parents, as they didn't know of her existence, and she didn't want to ask Harry for money.

She ran the tests Andrell had set her carefully, making detailed notes at every step and writing a few sentences in a special comment section set aside for the researcher's less-factual speculation based on intuition.

When she handed her paperwork to Andrell he made a quick perusal before declaring it "a masterpiece" and sending her home for the day.

Hermione retrieved her purse and jumper from the locker room and was surprised to see the healer waiting for her at the door. "Was there anything else?" he asked, a look of suspicion on his face.

She took a step back at that, thinking hard if there was something she had carelessly left out of her report. "No, not that I can think of."

His look was immediately replaced with a cheerful one. "Very well. Thank you for coming in."

Her head was alight with speculation at the man's strange behavior as she walked into the deserted hallway. When she looked over her shoulder, however, he was gone and she turned on the spot.

She appeared with a crack in the Forest of Dean, setting up the tent very near where they had camped before. Out of habit she put protective wards up around her campsite before sitting down with her journal, opening to the last page she had written in before she had thought it lost forever. It was a story she was writing for entertainment. It was full of fantasy and intrigue and took place a world away, and so was the perfect distraction to immerse herself in.

Night came quickly, and she elected to go to bed early. She rose with the sun the next day. One spell made quick work of her humble abode and she apparated to an alley in London near a café at which she could take a quick breakfast.

Afterwards she returned to St. Mungo's only to find the lab completely deserted. It must have been the weekend already. She thought about sending Andrell an owl, but decided after all of the work of the last weeks it was best he at least had a lie in. Instead she set to work cleaning equipment and organizing as much as she could without risking disorganizing someone else.

When the chipper healer arrived he was surprised to see her. "Hermione! Back again so soon? You're going to spoil me."

"Just enjoying the work, sir."

"Come now there is no need for such formalities. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, just needed to get away," she finally conceded after a moment of hesitation.

"Ah, well considering how often I come here to escape I'm not one to judge. Unfortunately after all the work you did yesterday I was able to send a progress report to my superiors so there is not much to do on the potion until I hear back from them."

Hermione let her very real disappointment show. She had been looking forward to another day among the dead to keep her mind off things. "I see. I'll just be going then. Will you owl me when there is more to do?"

"Certainly," he said and matched her parting nod with one of his own. Just as she was about to step out the door his voice stopped her. "You really don't remember do you?"

"Remember? Remember what?"

"You came to me just days ago with a spell to try, to possibly add to the treatment with our potion. The delicium spell."

The shock at him referring to his brainchild as "our potion" was immediately replaced by wonder at how she had forgotten to ask him how his trial of the spell had gone and if it could possibly bear fruit for a cure. "Oh my goodness. I completely forgot."

His answering reply, "That doesn't surprise me," and vigorous nodding, as one who had just solved a complex puzzle, was not what she expected.

"Come again?"

"I would have completely forgotten myself if I didn't write myself a crane."

"A crane?"

"Just a reminder note you can set to appear to you at a given place and time."

"Oh I see," she nodded, thinking hard about what he had said. Alas, no great epiphany came to her and she was forced to admit, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Andrell widened his stance slightly and crossed his arms over his chest, a pose she had come to expect would be followed by a very technical lecture or bad news. "You show the symptoms of being under a dissuasion spell."

Her blood ran cold at his words. The only dissuasion spell she knew was mind magic: placing subconscious triggers in someone's brain connected to a word or idea that would make them forget it or otherwise give them a negative association with the concept. To think that someone had gotten close enough to put such a spell on her was frightening. She had gambled her and her friend's lives on the assumption that she was completely in control of herself. It frightened her to the core and she wanted to hide, but Andrell's hand on her shoulder aborted her stream of panic.

"Don't worry so much just yet. I can do a test to be sure, but it seems I am under the dissuasion spell as well."

"What, but—?"

He held up a hand to forestall her. "I've already checked and no alterations were made directly to my mind. I can test you to be sure as well, but I have heard of one case similar to this."

"What exactly is 'this'?"

"A mass-effect spell. The only instance I've heard of it being utilized is several hundred years ago. A jilted lover decided no one else would have her wizard and used the spell to curse his name. She put up wards all around the town causing anyone saying his name to see an image of the his or her grandmother sitting on a latrine. Thus the dissuasion spell acted on everyone within the town without the witch having to cast it on an individual person. The poor bloke couldn't even pay someone to bed with him. Probably died from stage four sexual frustration."

His eyes twinkled with amusement as he told the story.

"Hell hath no fury like a witch scorned," she agreed. "But how did she manage it? A spell like that would need a living host to maintain it."

She knew from experience with the taboo spell in the dark mark. The healer looked surprised at her insight.

"Inferi frozen in statues that held the trigger to activate the spell."

"But inferi are dead."

"They are undead: apparently alive enough to hold a spell, at least for a certain amount of time. She probably had to maintain them; anyway that is how they eventually found out about it. Shortly after her death — he had been gone a few years as well — the statues started to crumble. I'm just not sure how a spell like this could go undetected in this environment. Inferi require very dark magic, anything of the sort would have been found out ages ago with the atmosphere of paranoia He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named caused."

Hermione would have rolled her eyes at his aversion to using Voldemort's name — the man was dead after all — but she was too busy thinking.

It would make perfect sense for Voldemort to put a dissuasion on the cure to his favorite form of torture. He probably tortured people to insanity and then brought them back just so they would be loyal followers, but she had not found anything like the spell in Draco's Dark Mark. Either she had missed it, or it wasn't there.

Perhaps she was right in her assumption that not all of the Marks were the same. She would need to map another, possibly several, for comparison, but first she wanted to check Draco's again to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

"I have an idea,—"

"Why am I not surprised?"

"—But I need to check a few things."

"I see. I assume you'll be retreating to the grand Manor library?"

That stopped her dead in her tracks. The Manor meant facing Draco, and she was not entirely certain she would hold her temper with him. Luckily she had all of the spells from his Mark cataloged so she wouldn't have to retrieve another map from him before getting any work done. "Actually I'll use the library here, if that's alright?"

"As long as you don't mind me popping in to snoop periodically?"

"I never do," she said with a smile, departing to begin her research, but a thought occured to her. "Oh, so how did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Your trial of the delicium spell."

"Oh yes! It didn't work."

"Didn't work?" she frowned.

"Yes. No effect at all."

"No effect at all," she repeated dumbfounded.

"Exactly. Are you quite sure of your results?"

"I'll, er, check again," she said. Had she imagined the whole thing?

He just nodded and turned to his office.

No, she was certain of what she had seen and felt. There must be another explanation, which meant she had yet another mystery to solve, but set to work trying to find the dissuasion spell first as it was most troubling to her.

After hours of checking and rechecking she had to admit defeat. There was nothing besides the Taboo in the long list of spells that came close to what she was looking for, and she analyzed the Taboo spell exhaustively to ensure it was only used on Voldemort's name.

The healer had faithfully checked in on her every few hours, bring her tea and sandwiches. When he showed up again she explained her lack of progress.

"I'll need to map another Dark Mark. Maybe one older, or from someone in the Inner Circle."

"I can think of a handful of Death Eaters that would happily assist the Ministry in the interest of shaving a few years off their sentence."

"I don't want to involve the Ministry. I may be completely wrong."

"And you and your friends have an inherent mistrust of authority figures," he looked up at her in mock scolding.

"That's not true! I trust the Order."

"The Order whose members have inserted themselves into all of the high-ranking positions at the Ministry of Magic."

Well she hadn't thought about that.

At that moment a white paper crane flew into the room in a flurry of flapping wings and pecked at Andrell until the man plucked in unceremoniously from the air. "Well perhaps you're right. We should look into it more before involving law enforcement. What did you have in mind then?" he asked distractedly.

Hermione was intrigued by the tiny flapping creature that struggled against the man as he unfolded the parchment, finally coming to rest as he read. She only realized he had asked her a question when he stared at her for several moments.

"Oh, Professor Snape. Assuming you think it's safe of course."

"Draco seems fully intact; I can't imagine it would be a problem. Speaking of Professor Snape—"

"What is that?" she blurted out.

"A reminder for me to pass a message to you. The Minister of Magic's office sent a representative here today looking for Professor Snape and Harry. The Minister of Magic himself wants to come and take both Professor Snape's testimony on his role as a spy and Harry's explanation of how Lucius Malfoy ended up in my morgue. That should avoid a formal hearing for both of them."

"Oh why didn't I think of Lucius?"

"Excuse me?"

"I could test his Mark."

"You would need Draco's permission."

"Of course. I'll take the paperwork to him tomorrow."

"A verbal authorization would suffice, Hermione. I trust you."

She blushed at the compliment, but insisted on procuring the authorization in writing to protect the hospital. He nodded begrudgingly at her logic.

"Did someone put a dissuasion spell on you giving me that message?" she asked, indicating the paper in his hands that was now folded back into a bird and twittering contently.

"No it was just a reminder," he said with a grin, placing the paper crane to nest in his curly locks. "I've had a lot on my mind."


	16. Always Two, There Are

Chapter 16 — Always Two, There Are

* * *

Severus spent every waking moment of the next few days working on his potion. With his schedule cleared of obligations as both Headmaster and spy he found he was able to nurse it along quickly and soon found it nearly at the same stage he had left it in before the world went to hell.

One benefit of staying in the lab was that Potter knew better than to bother him in there. The boy was somewhat of an enigma as of late. He insisted on staying at the Manor in case Severus needed him — a preposterous idea — and spent most of his time in the library. When asked, he claimed he was studying. Severus doubted that very much.

If Potter did check in on him during the day his tone was cool — not quite cold — and collected, simply asking if he needed anything before disappearing. Night was a different story. The youth would come and sit with him like in the hospital, propped up in an overstuffed chair at his bedside. Severus saw him there whenever he woke in the middle of the night, pretending to be asleep, and by morning he was always gone.

What was worse his nightmares had returned. Unlike before he didn't have them all night, really just once or twice since he had been in residence here, and he could only hope and pray he was not screaming and thrashing about when Harry was in the room. It confused and irritated him, as did the fact he would have the same dream about Potter he had had one fateful night in the hospital. It was fortunate the Gryffindor vacated the room before he woke; he shivered at the thought of a repeat performance.

What had he been thinking?

He hadn't; that was the problem.

Just recalling the way Harry had looked at him, like a precious treasure, caused immense confusion.

And so he brewed, and brooded, and entirely failed to keep the young man off of his mind.

One morning his thoughts were punctuated by an irritated Hermione Granger stomping into his lab. It was not exactly what he would have chosen, but he immediately welcomed the distraction.

"Andrell asked me to see how you are," she said by way of greeting.

"I see."

"So how are you?"

"Never been better." A Cheshire smile and theatric wave of his hand actually caused her to relax visibly. Well that was easy.

"Andrell will be pleased."

He nodded at her as if conceding a point.

"And of course I am too, Professor."

He repeated the action.

"We were all quite worried."

"How kind of you, but I assure you I am well on my way to recovery… thanks to your actions."

"Oh it was nothing."

"Well thank you all the same."

She looked at him surprised for a moment, as if translating the words from Snarky Professor to English. He moved up and down the table checking his five cauldrons while he waited for her to speak or leave.

"You're welcome," she said very quietly, but still did not leave. He could tell she was still agitated and fidgeting nervously.

"Is there anything else you wished to discuss?"

"It's just… the boys. They've been using drugs."

Well that wasn't what he had expected. He gestured for her to continue.

"Ever since Ginny went missing and Draco brought them back."

"And by 'the boys' you mean…?"

"Ron is the only one that has admitted to it, but Draco seemed so familiar with it all I can't help but wonder."

"I heard Ginny was abducted. What exactly happened?"

The witch before him launched into an explanation of everything that had transpired in between Ginny's visit to Harry in the hospital and Draco and Luna's follow-up visit to Borgin and Burke's and how she had found out about the potions a few days prior. Evidently she hadn't spoken to them since.

Hermione was clearly not happy that Draco had gone back to the shop, and either he was blind or he detected a hint of jealously when she spoke of Draco and Luna working together, muttering something about inbreds and a miniature dragon.

She spoke with such biting rhetoric and righteous indignation he could not help but be reminded of Lily. The one time his long lost friend had caught him experimenting with potions in his youth she had reacted much the same. He found he did not mind listening to her one bit.

"It was totally irresponsible of them," he agreed, calming her tirade, "but they may just have been curious. I can speak with them if you like. Perhaps coming from an authority figure it would prevent further experimentation. Do you know what they were taking?"

"Doxy Dust."

Severus nearly laughed in her face.

The way she was speaking he had expected them to at least have stepped up to Spinners. Doxy Dust was hardly dangerous; it was even being legalized in several parts of the world. Still, belittling her concerns would not garner him any favor.

"I see. Well no one has ever died taking it, so they should be safe for now. There's doubt it's even physically addictive."

She sighed. "I know. But mentally?"

"Anything can be mentally addictive. Quidditch, for example—"

"I'm afraid Ron is self-medicating anger issues instead of getting help to deal with them."

He didn't think it prudent to mention that any "help" Weasley got would probably involve a legal prescription potion with mood altering qualities that would yield much the same result.

"And Draco?"

"Well as I said he claims he isn't taking anything."

"Any knowledge he has on the subject may have come from his father. Lucius was relying heavily on illegal potions, particularly as he fell out of favor with the Dark Lord."

"Well that would explain his appearance when we were caught."

"When you were caught?" Severus asked with furrowed brow.

At that moment five puffs of white smoke spewed out of all five gold cauldrons, and his companion coughed violently until he was able to activate the ventilation system.

"What are you making anyway?" she asked.

He recognized the misdirect but let it slide. "This, my dear, is a potion of persuasion," he purred as he set five identical glass rods to stirring the potions in an identical manner.

"Would that fall under 'Bewitch the mind' or 'Ensnare the sense'?" she said with a laugh.

His eyes widened in shock, but he quickly recovered and answered her seriously: "'Ensnare the senses.'"

"Ah. How does it work?"

"It given the imbiber's voice a special quality that… inclines whoever he or she is speaking with to do as they say or answer questions they are posed. Sort of a reverse truth serum, but since the one speaking is not taking it it is harder to detect. It is also more subtle an though not as reliable as Vertaserum when used correctly it should give the speaker an enhanced ability to obtain information or a desired response. I was developing it… before… to help you and your friends find the horcruxes. I thought the Dark Lord may have entrusted them to other Death Eaters besides Lucius and was hoping to get information to pass onto you. It was still under development, but I thought my efforts should not be wasted."

"Oh! Like love potion number eight."

"I'm not familiar with that particular blend, but, yes, a love potion can work on the same idea, though sewing infatuation in someone is trivial compared to what this can do."

"That's amazing! I was working on something similar myself — a spell of sorts. I used it once to prevent a giant from crushing me to death. It's just sort of a pitch to my voice. It doesn't seem terribly powerful. I can't seem to get people do do things they wouldn't have done already if less inhibited or under different circumstances, but I thought it might be useful as no one seems to notice when I use it."

He looked at her appraisingly. What the woman was describing was exactly what his potion was meant to do, though he had fancied his a bit more persuasive than simply overcoming inhibitions. He had not even thought of looking for a spell with the effects he was looking for. He was a Potions Master after all.

"Show me," he said.

"Dance with me," she spoke in a breathy voice after just a moment of thought.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled her flush against him, holding out her hand with his and they walked methodically across the floor. Somehow he had conjured a rose, which he held in his teeth, and a violin that was playing the tango.

They reached one side of the room. He dipped her down, her slender form arching back gracefully, and when she came back up she had his rose her in mouth. Again they stepped across the stone floor, his heels clacking in time as he analyzed the sensations he felt. He was clearly still under her suggestion, as they were still dancing, but he didn't feel pain, nor the bliss of being under the imperius curse. In fact, he was rather worried he would step on her feet.

They reached the other end of the room, and his rose came back to him before they set off again. He didn't feel particularly inclined to stop but wanted to see how much the suggestion would resist him if he did, so the next time he dipped her down he froze there, rose still in his teeth, and was surprised to meet no resistance. "Ah schee wat ooh mehn," he said around the stem in his mouth, and stood them both up a moment later.

Severus pushed away from her slightly, suddenly aware of their proximity and the way she was staring at him. The giant red rose in his mouth probably didn't help. He took it out and looked around before thinking of how much receiving flowers had always put Lily in a good mood. He thrust his hand out towards her.

"Thank you," she stammered, taking the flower in one hand and smoothing down her robes with another. He couldn't help but smirk. Women were sometimes so predictable.

He returned his attention to the synchronized stirring that was thankfully still taking place. Another testament to the subtlety of the spell she used on him; most spells like that would have broken his simple spell on the rods.

"I had not thought about using a spell, Miss Granger. That is brilliant."

"I really can't take credit. It was little more than accidental magic when I thought I was going to die. It doesn't even have an incantation yet."

"Then your subconscious is brilliant too; I congratulate you. Would you mind helping me add a few ingredients? They need to be added to the cauldrons at the exact same time in order to keep them in parity."

"Oh of course," she said, and he set out several small metal bowls of ingredients he had prepared in front of each potion. "At the exact same time you say?" she said with a grin, and they both broke out into song together:

"O Ca-na-daaa!"

_Bam!_

"Our home and native land!"

_Bam!_

"Truue patriot loove!"

_Bam!_

"In all thy sons command!"

_Bam!_

There were only four ingredients, but they finished the song, Severus conducting them along with his wand. She was smiling broadly when they finished, and he was, well, not frowning.

He had not felt that carefree since Lily. _Dammit I'm doing it again_. His cheery air faded, and he quickly busied himself.

"Perhaps you could use the spell and the potion together? It might be more effective?"

"That is an excellent idea. Further evidence you are talented."

"What happened to insufferable know-it-all?" she asked lightly.

"Miss Granger, please understand I was under a lot of stress while teaching and spying for the order. It was completely inappropriate of me—."

"You were right."

"Inappropriate."

"But right," she said simply. "I should leave you to your work, Professor."

"Oh Miss Granger?"

She turned on her heel at the doorway, as she had already started her egress.

"Would you help me prepare some ingredients? I'm still a bit sore, and, ermm…"

"It would be my pleasure," she said with a friendly smile, thankfully aborting his term of lexical indecision. They didn't become him.

The witch pulled her hair up and pushed up her sleeves, something he had seen her do countless times in class to prepare for brewing. This time his eye was drawn to something he was certain had not been on her arm before.

"What happened there?" he asked sternly.

The girl started at his suddenly severe tone. "Oh it's nothing," she said as she tried to pull her sleeve down, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm. She tensed visibly, but did not pull away. Instead she flashed him a guilty look before averting her eyes.

Severus cursed himself for defaulting to his Angry Bastard voice. He would never have spoken to one of his Slytherins that way had he found someone had mistaken their arm for a carving board. "Please tell me what happened to you," he said as gently as he was capable of.

He knew the words had worked when she relaxed ever so slightly. Still she did not speak, so he waited.

Her voice came out quiet and shaky. "Harry, Ron, and I were taken by snatchers."

Severus hissed angrily, releasing her arm as he stood. She tensed again and her head whipped around, a look of fear on her young face. He managed to calm himself and sat back down. "I'm sorry. I've just seen what they can do."

"It wasn't even them. They didn't hurt us… much." Her arms wrapped around herself protectively and she started rocking side to side ever so slightly.

He was filled with dread at her behavior, recognizing the symptoms of abuse far too easily. But how far had the abuse gone? "Did they rape you?" Hermione flinched at the word but shook her head, her hair flipping about where is spilled out from the clip she had used. "But they did do something."

"Greyback wanted to bite me but Scabior stopped him. Apparently he thought I should be grateful and wouldn't mind his hands all over me. Anyway it didn't last long. I had cursed Harry's face so he wasn't immediately recognizable, but they thought it might be him so they took us to the Malfoys straightaway.

"They asked Draco to identify us, but he lied and said he wasn't certain who we were. His mother recognized me anyway, and then Bellatrix saw the Sword of Gryffindor someone had taken from my purse. She was furious; it was meant to be in her vault at Gringotts. She tortured me for information, accused me of stealing it. I told her the truth; I didn't steal it. Needless to say she didn't believe me."

Hermione cradled her arm to her chest, her blotchy red face bowed down.

"How did you escape?" he prompted her.

"Aberforth Dumbledore sent Dobby the house elf to take us away. He managed to get us and the other prisoners out. He died saving us all." She fell silent again, and now tears fell from her eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear for your loss."

The girl just nodded, pulling a handkerchief out from her blouse to dab at her eyes. He was surprised to see the Slytherin crest delicately embroidered on one corner. "Why didn't you have a healer attend to you?"

She was silent for a long time but finally whispered, "I haven't told anyone else."

"No one else knows?"

"Everyone that saw it happen does: the Malfoys and Bellatrix of course. Harry and Ron and the other prisoners heard me screaming, but they don't know exactly what happened."

Severus sighed deeply. He was not exactly forthcoming about every injury he had received in the line of duty, but he was not a scared seventeen year old girl. He slowly reached out and gently took her arm to survey the damage more closely. The word "Mudblood" stood out in pale red, the scars stood tall and puffy across her skin. Tiny lines criss-crossed them, as of skin still trying to mend itself.

"Someone had to have healed this. Did you do that?"

"I used my entire supply of Essence of Dittany to get them to close. I guess I didn't have enough to erase the scars too."

"Dittany is good for searing large quantities of flesh back together, but it won't work on Scars, Miss Granger. It encourages rapid cell growth; if anything it would make them more pronounced."

"I didn't think about that," she said with a look that normally meant she hadn't done perfectly on a pop quiz.

"Well given the circumstances I won't deduct house points."

That earned him a very unladylike snort and a small smile.

"But I can make you something that will minimize the scarring; it may be too late to erase it entirely. If you would like, of course."

She nodded vigorously.

"Let's get to work then."

He returned to the table in the room, pulling out a standard pewter cauldron, filling it with a small amount of water, and setting it on a boiler. Reaching into the cupboards he retrieved several ingredients they would need and got out two chopping blocks. His sharp eyes saw her out of the corner of his eye trying to tug down her sleeves again. "Don't," he said, reaching out again to stop her. "You don't have to hide in front of me. You've done nothing wrong, and real healing begins when someone bears witness."

* * *

Hermione stirred the glop in the cauldron in front of her with trepidation. Was it supposed to look like that? "Sir I'm afraid I may have made an error."

"I very much doubt that." The man sat three cauldrons down, writing in a notebook that looked just like hers except with a black cover. She wondered if McGonagall had given him that one too. When he got up he looked over her work and she couldn't help but have flashbacks of school, his keen eye always analyzing her potion more critically than anyone else in class. "It seems fine to me."

"Please tell me I don't have to drink this," she said with disgust. The mere thought of consuming the sickly brown substance made her queasy.

"It's a topical ointment, and it looks like it's finished. Excellent work." He relieved her of the cauldron and removed the sticky goo from it, setting it in a small glass dish. After letting it cool for a few minutes he dabbed his finger in it and held his other hand out to her. "May I?"

Without thinking she held her arm out to him which he cradled in one hand and, with a gentleness she would not have believed of him, rubbed some of the potion onto her scar. A cool tickling sensation immediately spread throughout her arm and she watched with awe as the egregious marks on her arm began to diminish and fade.

It was quite amazing really. She could feel the magic energy flowing into her skin working in perfect harmony with the salve the man worked into her scar to set everything right. For someone who could be so cold and cruel, he clearly had an aptitude for healing.

"Have you given any thought to how you might occupy your time after school is over, Miss Granger?" he asked, no doubt trying to distract her the way Castor had when he was working on her.

"Oh, I… a bit. I've been assisting Andrell part time on a potion he is developing to treat the effects of the cruciatus curse."

He looked at her as if surprised to genuinely have his interest piqued. "Fascinating."

"It really is, and Andrell is a brilliant healer. I'm just not sure a job in the medical research field is right for me."

"Oh? Not enjoying experimenting on the dead?"

"I've actually become rather fond of the dead; it's the living that haunt me."

He snorted with amusement as he dipped his finger back into the brown goo before continuing his ministrations. "In my experience your work can be a job, a career, or a calling." He looked up at her with an unexpected intensity that had his eyes boring into hers. "Don't settle for the first two. I think that's about all I can do today."

Severus released her arm and got up to wash his hands before placing the rest of the brown substance in a glass container.

Hermione looked down to see his handiwork and was amazed. The puffy redness had decreased significantly, leaving her scars nearly as flat and pale as the surrounding skin.

"You should use this every day for a week. Whatever condition your scars are in after that time are how they will remain the rest of your life. It works best when paired with a simple healing spell. That I can teach you, but it works best if someone else performs it. If you so desire I will continue administering the treatment."

He held the glass vial out to her. "Yes, please," she said finally, and he placed it back on the table. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"I have had many roles in my life; I had a career as a teacher, a job as a spy, but this," he gestured inclusively at the golden cauldrons in front of him, "this is my calling."

She had meant he sounded like he had experience with scars, but she quickly realized that was silly. He was a spy and servant of Voldemort, of course he had scars. Some of them might even be on the outside. "Thank you for sharing it with me, Professor."

"The pleasure is mine." He started setting up a large brass cauldron in the corner, taking steel wool to it with finesse.

With his back turned to her thus, it seemed easier to talk to him.

"What I really like to do is write," she said and flushed with embarrassment. To her immense relief, he did not crane his neck around and laugh at her as Ron did when she had told him her life's dream.

"That is an invaluable skill, especially in the scientific community where I've found it's… sorely lacking. Is there anything in particular you like to write?"

"Everything, really. I was thinking that with Bathilda Bagshot dead we would need a new historian, and I really think someone should tell our story."

The scrubbing stopped abruptly. "Our story?"

"The story of the war, of everything that happened. It's important for people to know. With everyone's permission of course."

The scrubbing resumed.

"I just can't help but think — well I know horcruxes weren't meant to be common knowledge, but Riddle was able to make six of them without anyone knowing, no one noticing the symptoms, because no one knew what to look for. I just don't think that's right either. "

Snape was quiet for a long time, the only noise the sound of metal scraping on metal. When he finished he turned and stood up straight. "As usual you show maturity beyond your years, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor. I just believe it's important."

He walked passed her, retrieving a large jar of a dark oily substance. "Are you working on anything at the present time?"

"Yes actually, I've been working on a story while we were on the move; hoping it might inspire some epiphany or at least distract me from Ron and Harry's incessant bickering."

"I would be pleased to read your story if you would like; I frequently review my college's works before they are published."

"Oh, well, sure you could," she said, and he tilted his head to one side slightly. "It's just, well it's silly, really. It's a fantasy story based on a muggle novel. They call it 'fanfiction.' It's a — er, rather graphic love story between a vampire and a werewolf. They're both, well — they're both men. You see the story I'm writing is basically over glorified gay porn."

The witch's eyes had been darting about madly during her staggered speech, trying to avoid his gaze. Now she fixed them on him intently waiting to receive his judgment.

"Oh," Snape said, one hand frozen halfway to his face where it had been on its way to smooth back an eyebrow. "Well then I really _must_ read it."

She released the breath she had been holding with a delighted giggle. Why couldn't that conversation go so well every time?

After helping Snape set up the brass cauldron for what he explained was his "potion within a potion" she excused herself to go in search of Draco. She had put off seeing him long enough.

After searching for nearly a quarter of an hour she found Draco in an unexpected place: the library. What was even more shocking was his company: none other than a certain raven-haired seeker and freckle-nosed keeper. Her jaw dropped open at the sight of the three of them sitting with their heads together in silence and by all appearances studying. Certainly blast-ended skrewts had learned to fly.

Hermione composed herself before walking closer to them, her footfalls not reaching their ears until she was nearly upon them.

"Hermione!" Ron squeaked, before standing abruptly.

Draco, who had his back to her, shot up the moment he heard her name. In the process he displaced something large, orange, and furry that had been sitting on his lap, and it landed on the floor with a startled cry.

"Crookshanks!" she cried.

The Slytherin got on his knees to retrieve her cat from under the table, handing him to her awkwardly. "I sent for him at the Weasley's," he said, "I thought you might be missing him."

Hermione took her precious cat and cradled him to her chest. "Mummy missed you!" she said before burying her face in his messy fur. She inhaled his scent — like a warm cotton blanket — savoring the reunion for a moment before addressing the blonde that was looking at her anxiously. "Thank you, Draco. That was thoughtful of you," she said formally.

She surveyed their work area. Text after text lay open on the table which was also littered with messy notes. She even saw a copy of the study schedule she had drawn up for the lot of them peeking out from under one book.

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion this scene had been staged.

"Studying I see?"

"Oh yes!" Ron said with enthusiasm and wide open eyes to match. He was trying so hard to look like he wasn't on downers that he looked like he was on uppers. "In fact I'm glad you're here; I had a question for you."

The redhead rummaged through some papers on the desk before extracting what proved to be a practice test she had written for them.

"Right here. Question 312b: 'What benefit does processing root of fig by slicing, chopping, or mincing provide, and why?' I know processing them speeds up the reaction, but I'm not sure why. Could you explain it to me please?"

Now she knew this had to be staged; Ron could never have gotten the first part of that question.

"That is only partly correct, Ronald," she began while taking a seat, cat purring on her lap, and saw all three boys relax marginally. "Chemical reactions occur on the surface of a substance — be it root of fig or any other ingredient — and processing them by slicing, chopping, or mincing increases the surface area to volume ratio. This does indeed speed up the reaction making the potion brew faster, and in some cases makes it conceivable to brew in one's lifetime, but 'slicing,' 'chopping,' and, 'mincing,' all refer to specific preparation methods that give you a _desired_ surface area to volume ratio and make the reaction rate _controlled_. If you mince your root of fig for a pepper-up potion instead of chopping it, it would all be spent by the time the antiquated goat liver was added and that would just defeat the entire purpose!"

Ron was nodding and furiously taking notes, as opposed to what he would normally do: stare at her and let his eyes glaze over. He must be really serious about getting in her good graces.

"Is that all then?" she asked the moment he finished writing.

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"You're not even taking the Potions NEWT, Ron. Why are you studying that?"

"Well Malfoy here said I should try to take it. Even if I fail and have to re-take it next year the grade would be replaced, and at the very least I'll be going into class next term a bit more prepared." Ron laughed nervously, Harry looked like his face was stuck in an aborted eye-roll, and Draco smiled at her hopefully.

Evidently being in the 'Hermione is pissed at me' club together was doing wonders for making the Gryffindors and Slytherin get along. Perhaps she should stay mad at them a bit longer.

Without warning there was a stinging pain in her left cheek and again a moment later. She turned her head and snatched a shiny blue paper crane out of the air before it pecked her eye out.

She unfolded the bird, seeing her cramped writing immediately. It was a reminder to discuss Andrell's failure with the delicium spell with Draco. Unsurprisingly, she had forgotten.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"A paper crane."

"Well that much I saw for myself."

"It was a reminder. Draco and I were testing a spell I had found while mapping his Dark Mark. I thought it might be meant to reverse some of the effects of the cruciatus curse, so—."

"The Longbottoms," Harry said with excitement, and she saw Draco pale out of the corner of her eye. He must know what his aunt had done to them.

"Exactly. We had success with it, but for some reason Andrell wasn't able to get it to work. That reminds me; I wanted to see if the effects were holding, Draco."

She didn't give the blonde a chance to object, just pulled out the diagnostic wand and flicked it at him.

"Oy!" Ron exclaimed.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"I stole it."

Both boys nodded and muttered, "Oh, right."

"The test is still normal, Drake. I just don't understand; why didn't it work for Andrell? That makes no sense."

"Actually," Ron piped up, "it kinda does. I've said it before. You're scary sometimes, Hermione: brilliant, but scary."

Harry and Draco were both nodding their agreement. She sputtered with indignation. "And just why are you my friend if I'm so bloody scary?"

"Well we certainly don't want to be your enemy," the redhead replied.

"I expect that was the Death Eaters' reasoning behind following Voldemort."

Harry and Ron both flinched, but Draco spoke up. "He does have a point. What you did with the Taboo? I've never seen anyone but my aunt and the Dark Lord himself doing magic like that. You are an extremely brilliant and powerful witch, and from what I've seen becoming more so every day."

She have thought the Slytherin was trying to stroke her ego to make her less pissed at him, but she figured even he would know better than to compare her to Bellatrix LeStrange in order to do so.

"And what of you? You were able to use the spell too," she pointed out.

"I—I had the Elder wand."

Hermione had her arms crossed over her chest and was facing away from them. She wanted to drown out his words, but even she could not argue with such sound logic. Did they really think she was going to become some all-powerful wizard that would follow in Voldemort's footsteps?

She finally turned back to them. "I see. There's only one way to test your theory."

"Ron and I could try it with the Elder wand," Harry offered.

The image of Harry writhing on the floor at Ron's command nearly made her burst out laughing. The ginger would probably never be able to look him in the face again.

"I'll bring the Elder wand to Andrell," Hermione said in a tone that left no room for argument. The witch looked to Harry who immediately nodded his acquiescence. Draco handed the wand to her, though far more reluctantly than before. "I need you to sign this."

Hermione handed Draco the consent form that would allow her to run tests on his father's Dark Mark. With the other boys present she did not particularly want to discuss its contents so she just let the blonde read it. He looked up at her curiously, but signed the form without comment and passed it back to her.

"Keep studying," she said before handing Draco her cat, standing up, and apparating to St. Mungo's.

Hermione walked through Andrell's lab on the receiving end of several curious looks. Several people were working there at the time, hunched over cauldrons or peering through magnifiers. These had to be Andrell's interns. Curiously they were all stunningly beautiful well-endowed witches. She briefly wondered which one of these floozies Andrell had partnered with to try the delicium spell.

The man's office was located at the back and she rapped three times on it. She heard shuffling inside and the door opened to a surprised and delighted Andrell who invited her in.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. Her face must still look grim from speaking with the boys.

"Oh yes, fine." She forced her lips into a semi-smile. "I've just seen Professor Snape. He's doing quite well. He's up and about brewing some experimental potion. I helped him for a bit today."

"Birds of a feather flock together."

"Speaking of flocking together, I was wondering if you would be willing to try the delicium spell again."

Obviously Andrell had not received a reminder about the spell lately, as he started with surprise when she brought it up. She was rather proud of herself for recognizing the symptoms of one under a dissuasion spell. "Certainly, but I doubt I'll have better results."

"I may have found a way to help with that," she said as she pulled the Elder wand out of her purse.

"This is Draco's wand?" he asked as he took it carefully.

"Not exactly. Have you ever heard of the Elder wand?"

"The Elder wand is a myth."

"Not exactly."

He looked at the piece of wood in his hand with reverence, gently running one finger along it as if expecting to feel something out of the ordinary. "You really believe this wand is all-powerful?"

"Not all powerful," she corrected him. "The fable says the wand was 'more powerful than any in existence,' not that it was all-powerful. Whether you believe Death himself made it or just a clever wandmaker, it is possible that it exists and I have reason to believe this is it."

"But it wouldn't just work for anyone."

"To a certain extent it will. Draco is able to use it, and the wand does not belong to him."

"Who does it belong to?" Andrell asked.

"We're not sure, actually," she said, feeling guilty for the lie but not wanting to reveal Harry's secret. "We do know it will work for anyone to a certain extent. If Draco tried to harm someone or something it would probably resist him. If he ever tried to harm the true owner with it, the wand would probably kill him."

"I see. And how exactly do you know all of this?"

"Trial and error?"

"That sounds a bit dangerous."

"You do know who my friends are, right?"

He just laughed. "I see your point. Well, Daisy isn't working today but I can try it tonight and get back to you tomorrow."

"I've promised Draco I wouldn't let the wand out of my sight. I was thinking you could try it on me."

They were both silent for a moment as he appraised her. "Are you sure about that? Just the other day, you— "

"I'm sure, Andrell. I know this is in a professional capacity. The idea just took me a bit of getting used to," she said, trying to keep the mild discomfort she felt out of her voice.

"Very well."

He indicated she should lie down on the couch in his office. Once she was comfy and gave him the thumbs-up, he ran a diagnostic wand over her and then raised the Elder wand. "_Dilectio." _

Hermione didn't start thrashing about wildly, but quickly realized the spell was having some effect. When Draco had used it on her she had felt very content towards the end, as if someone was tickling her skin all over with a feather. It appeared she had skipped right to that phase. Apparently Andrell's spell was not as powerful.

"Well that is disappointing," she said the moment he released her, sitting up on the couch as the man sat down.

"Not necessarily," the healer replied as he once again waved a diagnostic wand over her. "There was no change."

She cringed. "You're awfully fond of that phrase."_  
_

"I wouldn't say fond exactly. How did you feel?"

She briefly described what she was feeling while under his spell, his head nodding becoming more frequent as she spoke.

"Is that not how you felt at the end of the spell when Draco used it on you?"

Hermione nodded.

"Bear with me here; this is just speculation. My tests show your nervous system response is normal, both beforehand and afterwards. Perhaps that is just the effect of the spell used on someone that had not experienced the effect of the cruciatus curse."

"Oh! Why didn't I think of that? We need someone who has a deficient synaptic response to test it on. Someone that has experienced the cruciatus before. Have you, er…"

The man shook his head, curls flailing about, looking genuinely disappointed that he had never been tortured with the cruciatus curse before.

"We should still try it. If it works on you but only has a mild effect it would just give more evidence to your theory."

Hermione popped off the sofa so he could lay down. He handed her the Elder wand and she caught herself before she could say she didn't need to use it to get the spell to work. No sense in deflating the man's ego.

Andrell's normally serene composure had cracked slightly as she held up the long piece of wood. She hoped it was just because he was not sure of what would happen, and not because he didn't trust her.

"_Dilectio."_

The man's eyes closed slowly and he started twitching slightly. To her relief he did not exhibit any of the more violent symptoms of the spell and she released it after half a minute.

"Well?" she said.

Andrell's eyes snapped open when she spoke and he slowly sat up. "Enjoyable but not orgasmic. Guess I'll have to stick to sensory deprivation."

"To what?!" she sputtered.

"You know, sensory deprivation. When you suddenly lose your sense of sight, for example, your other senses are enhanced to accommodate it. If you go around blindfolded with noise sinks on for a few hours or even a few days it greatly enhances your sense of touch, to make certain activities more enjoyable if you know what I mean."

She was speechless.

"Perhaps Professor Snape would be willing to help us, but we should wait until he is completely recovered."

Hermione cringed. She had just accepted the inevitability of performing the spell on the healer she barely knew, let alone the right proper git of a man she had known since she was eleven.

"I need to visit to check on him anyway. I'll see what he says," Andrell offered, much to her relief. "In the mean time we should see if we can find that spell mentioned somewhere else in the medical library, if you would be willing to assist me?"

"Yes of course."

"Very well. I'll go and speak with Professor Snape now and meet you there in a bit?" he asked while pulling a few pieces of parchment out of his desk.

She nodded.

"_Sadako,_" he said while pointing his wand at a square piece of parchment. _"Sadako,_" he repeated, wand pointed at another. She recognized the spell he had taught her to make the little bird reminders, and the papers were folding themselves up as he went. Five spells later they all few off. "You might want to set yourself a few reminders as well until we can figure out how to lift that dissuasion spell."

"I already have. Every hour on the hour from sunup to midnight."

"Very good."

He escorted her out of his office and to the library, where he left her with an abandoning _pop._

She decided to start in the same section she had found the first mention of the name: medical journals. Most of them were published by healers that worked right here at St. Mungo's and she was unsurprised to see Andrell's signature in the first journal she picked up.

Hermione opted to start with the more recent journals so she could pinpoint exactly when it was that the spell was no longer mentioned, though she had a sneaking suspicion.

All of the journal articles were signed by the healers in charge of the study or experiment and sometimes accompanied with names and signatures of any interns that assisted on the project.

Hermione snorted as she scanned the pages. It looked to her like a "little black book" of Andrell's love life, his name inked boldly next to names such as "Daisy Duke," "Pollyanna Strange, "Jennifer St. LaSalle," "Bambi Bell," "Sunny Aristasha"... he'd shagged himself an entire cheering squad.

After settling herself on a comfortable chair, a large stack of papers on the table next to her, she began reading. Though she could have used the search spell, she found herself curious as to what Andrell and his band of busty… girls had been working on.

There was nothing on his latest potion, but given that it had not even reached human trials she was not surprised. She found an article on facial reconstruction that focused on patients who had become disfigured in various manners: explosions, fire, acid, etc. The majority of them appeared to be potions accidents, and she marveled briefly at how minor the injuries she had witnessed in Potions class at Hogwarts had been in comparison.

Under the signature line the piece referenced another article on facial reconstruction written by none other than it's co-author, Pollyanna. This had to be the Polly that Andrell had mentioned not long ago and how "sorry he was to lose her."

The article was over three years old, and the journals she had grabbed only covered a few months, so she found the correct volume in the stacks, wondering what wisdom the vapid wench had graciously imparted upon the medical community. She froze with shock when she came to it. "Facial Reconstruction for Cosmetic Purposes" it said in boring print at the top. What had gotten her attention, however, was the name listed in the by-line: Pollux Andromeda LeStrange.


	17. Birds of a Feather

Previously on SSatPP:

* * *

_She froze with shock when she came to the article she was looking for. "Facial Reconstruction for Cosmetic Purposes" it said in boring print at the top. What had gotten her attention, however, was the name listed in the by-line: Pollux Andromeda LeStrange._

* * *

Chapter 17 — Birds of a Feather

* * *

"Shit."

"Well that's not exactly the response I hope for when I walk into a room."

Hermione's head shot up to see Andrell, emerald robes gleaming and red hair waving, strolling towards her casually. "Oh no, it's just I've… forgotten to feed my cat."

She tried not to avert her eyes. Certainly as a healer the man was versed in the ways of spotting a liar, but staring at him intently probably looked suspicious as well.

"I'm sure she won't starve to death in the next few hours."

"He."

"Come again?"

"My cat, he's a 'he'."

"My apologies. I'm sure _he_ won't starve to death in the next few hours. Have you found anything useful?"

Useful was not the word she would use. More like found more questions. By her name, Polly could only be the daughter of Bellatrix LeStrange. But how had she ended up here, and why did she disappear? Did Andrell know about her connection to the Dark Lord? The thought chilled her.

"Not yet."

"Ah well, let's both get to work then." He stepped into another section of the library, pulling down books and chanting both "_Reperio_ delicium" and _"Reperio Dilectio"_ at them before placing them back on their respective shelves.

Hermione watched him appraisingly. The wizard was handsome, though not overly so. With his light freckles and red hair he maintained a certain boyish air, but the barely forming crow's feet and smile lines aged the man beyond his true years.

His pale hands, with stout, sturdy fingers and broad nail beds, ran over the equally white pages of parchment in each book. She wondered how often they had been stained in blood, or wiped away tears, how often his eyes had seen death. This was the first time she had really looked at the man as he worked, with such a quiet humbleness and esoteric beauty she wanted to cry.

And here she had been judging his choice in bedfellow.

She had to bite her finger to prevent herself from getting too sappy. Hermione berated herself for being so quick to judge: not only him, but the girls he'd hired based on name alone.

She decided at that moment that she trusted the man, and that if he did know of his erstwhile lover's lineage he had only hid it to protect her.

"I just read an article published by one of your interns. I believe you called her 'Polly,' but her real name was Pollux?" Hermione sidled up to the man, showing him the article she had been reading.

"Oh yes. She always despised that name. Said she had a great-grand_father_ named Pollux and wanted something more 'girly'. Evidently she thought Pollyanna was about as girly as you could get." Andrell smiled sadly at the memory.

"I can tell you were very fond of her."

"Yes, I—yes," the man sat down heavily on a stool that was underneath the long library counter.

"What happened?"

"She had to go back home to attend to a 'family emergency.'" The man's biting cadence and use of air quotes around the phrase "family emergency" indicated he himself was doubtful of the girl's story. Well that was one strike again the hitherto unseen woman already; that bitch broke her friend's heart.

"Does she live far?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual.

"Australia."

"Oh I see. How long ago was that?"

"A few months."

"I'm sorry. I can tell you still miss her."

He just nodded, and eventually pulled out another book, calling out the search charms on it.

After a few more hours of fruitless searching, during which her companion continued to sulk, they decided to call it a day.

"I'm just going to pop down to the morgue before I go home. I got Draco's consent to run the tests on his father's Dark Mark."

"Would you like company?" he asked tiredly.

"I'll be all right. Thank you, Andrell, for everything," she said before crushing him in a hug and practically fleeing the library.

So much for not getting sappy.

The lift down to the basement was swift, and she was immediately welcomed by the chilled embrace that probably made the dead feel right at home. The room was pitchy black and the sterile smell set her on edge.

"_Lumos."_

She had both her wand and the Elder wand out, not sure if they would work at the same time. To her surprise, not only did both wand tips light up, but lights appeared at that moment in every fixture of the room. Since it had been bright down here already the last time she came, she was not sure if the incantation to light the entire room was just the same as to light her wands, or if the Elder wand was exercising its witchy ways.

The correct locker was easy to find since there was a board listing all of the corpses in residence.

When she arrived, she put her hand on the refrigerator door and paused, fervently wishing she had taken the healer up on his offer to accompany her. "Pull yourself together, woman, you're a Gryffindor!"

The words echoed strangely in the room, making it if possible even more eerie. She rolled her eyes, and pushed down the handle with more force than was strictly necessary while pulling the door open in one swift movement.

His white blonde hair was immediately recognizable, though it was draped around him unceremoniously. He looked even worse than when she had seen him last. "Of course he does you idiot! He's dead! And now I'm talking to myself."

She pulled out the tray just enough for her to reach his arm. The Dark Mark had faded to red; she had read that happened when the Dark Lord disappeared the first time. Luckily her spell still seemed to read it, though it had less incantations stored in it, not more.

Hermione pulled out her notebook at a nearby table and began the process of dissecting the complex set of spells. It went much more quickly than before. She found Malfoy's had seventeen less spells than his son's, though none of them were major. Evidently she had been correct in assuming Voldemort had built upon his creation over time. There were no spells in Lucius' Mark that were not present in Draco's, so they were back to square one when it came to tracking the Dissuasion spell.

She rolled the man back into his frigid slumber and shut off the lights on her way out, apparating to the Manor in the hallway. When she arrived the boys were still in the Library, but this time Luna and Castor had joined them.

"No, I think you'd be in Hufflepuff," the blonde witch was saying as Hermione crossed the threshold into the room.

"Ouch! Be still my beating heart! Isn't that the worst one?" Castor asked good-naturedly.

"No, I thought so too at first. You see, Ravenclaws are known for their intellect, Gryffindors for their courage, and Slytherins for their cunning. Whereas a Slytherin might poison their enemy, a Gryffindor might hack them to bits with a sword, and a Ravenclaw might outsmart them. A Hufflepuff might do any of those depending on the situation, or may have taken them out for drinks the night before and never made them an enemy in the first place. They adapt, and so are some of the more well-adjusted students when it comes to living in the real world

"Their other unifying quality is that, above all, they are not elitists, which is why you will never hear someone bragging about being in Hufflepuff. They're just an accepting and unassuming bunch. Keep in mind we're sorted into houses based on our personality when we are eleven, so we are surrounded for seven years by people who are likely to think like we do and see the same solutions to problems. Personally I think dividing us like that only encourages unfriendly rivalry and stunts our emotional growth, but it's not my school.. Oh hello, Hermione."

Draco and Ron stood again when they saw her, though the Slytherin managed to pluck Crookshanks from his lap beforehand.

"Hermione!" both boys said in unison.

"Oh stuff it. I know what you guys are doing."

"Is it working?" Ron asked hopefully.

She glared at them a few moments more before conceding, "You know it is."

"Yay!" Ron said, moving around the table to pick her up in an embrace.

Draco just sent her a lop-sided smile and slight bow of his head.

"Luna, Castor," she greeted the couple. "How have you found England, Castor?"

"A map?"

"Sorry?"

"It was a joke; you see… never mind. It was awesome! Luna here showed me all over: Diagon Alley, The White Cliffs of Dover, Stonehenge, and we even went to Hogsmeade and I got to see Hogwarts. That is a neat school. Wish we had something like that back home."

"You don't have wizarding schools in the states?" she asked.

"Well we do, they're just not quite so… ancient, and cool! I mean come on the stairways move!"

"That's not quite so cool when you're late for class, but I admit it does add to the wow-effect," Hermione replied.

The conversation then lapsed into awkward silence, as conversations are wont to do.

"I'd better get back to Da," Luna finally spoke.

"May I floo you to your door?" her companion asked. She nodded and he held out his arm for her. "I'll see you all later."

"Goodnight everyone." Luna said.

They said their farewells, and Hermione was relieved when they left. It was not that she didn't enjoy their company, but she couldn't really speak freely with them here. Not about what she had found.

"You all need to read this," she said seriously the moment the couple had left the library.

She pulled out the article with Pollux's name, and they all were looking at it for just a few seconds before there were three sets of very wide eyes in front of her. They were all so shocked they kept reading, turning their disbelief-riddled faces on her when they finished.

"What…?" Harry said.

"I'm still trying to figure that out. I do know she—"

"SHE?!" Draco sputtered.

Hermione glared at him, and he closed his lips tightly to indicate he would not interrupt her further. "I do know she also went by the name Pollyanna Strange, and Andrell knew her as Polly. She probably shortened it when she realized her name would be recognizable."

"Andrell? What has he got to do with this?" Harry asked, face distorted by confusion.

"She was his intern, and I think they eventually became lovers."

"So this means Bellatrix had a daughter as well?" Ron asked the room.

They all looked at Draco.

"I knew nothing about her having children at all. I can ask my mother. She's a bit more herself," the blonde offered, fidgeting nervously under their borderline accusatory stares.

"There's something else. Remember when you went to the pub in Little Hangleton?" she asked, addressing her housemates.

They both nodded.

"You said someone had come asking after the Riddle family. They said her name was Anna, and you said she was 'strange'. I thought you were just completely smashed at the time."

"I was definitely completely smashed."

"Be that as it may, that word was on your mind for a reason. And you remembered they told you she had black hair. You also thought someone had disturbed the site since you had been there last, and look at this…"

Hermione pulled a canvas bag out of her purse, floating out the contents. With one swish of her wand, Tom Riddle, Sr.'s skeleton lay neatly assembled on the desk next to them.

"What have you still got that for?" Ron croaked.

"I still had questions. Look," she said walking over to the table, and the boys joined her. She pointed to just underneath the jaw. "His hyoid bone is missing. At first I thought I just left it, but I've been back to the grave site to check. It's not there; somebody took it."

Harry paled at her words. "You mean someone else has been trying to raise Voldemort from the dead?"

"That is possible, but I think it's more likely someone was running the same tests we were. Most organic matter decomposes inside of fifty or so years. Riddle's skeleton is just over that, so I tested all of the bones most likely to retain genetic material for any kind of organic compounds before trying to extract them form the bones themselves. I couldn't test the hyoid because it wasn't there, but it is one of the more likely to."

She moved back to the table that was littered with their books, sitting down to pull out her notebook.

"I've pieced together this timeline so far. The article was published about two years ago. Most medi-students start their internships just after secondary school, so Polly would have been 18 or so. It is practically unheard of for interns to publish at all, but with Andrell as a sponsor she may have been able to, certainly no sooner than a year into her internship."

"Well that explains why she was sleeping with him," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione smacked him smartly on the head with the nearest book.

"What? I'm not the only one thinking it. I mean the man is—"

"Handsome, and brilliant, and at only 36 has already received numerous awards for both his abilities as a trauma healer and researcher, having cured several diseases that previously required a lifetime of potions to manage. What? You thought I would let someone work on Professor Snape without vetting him first?"

"Handsome, you say?" Harry teased. She ignored him.

"As I was saying, that would put Polly at the ripe old age of 21."

"The same a Castor."

"Exactly. She may be a year or even two older, but I doubt it. Remember the story of Castor and Pollux; they were twins. Pollux is not really a girl's name, so why else would she be named that? Furthermore, Castor and Pollux _did _have two twin sisters, but neither of them ended up in the sky."

"The Black family names their offspring after stars," Harry commented while nodding.

"Technically, after celestial objects. Andromeda is a galaxy, and there was a constellation or two on the family tree."

"Andromeda? That's Tonks' mother."

"Yes. I'm just not sure why Bellatrix would give her daughter the name of someone she saw as a blood traitor."

"Names are traditionally recycled in our family," Draco supplied. "There's only so many recognizable stars."

"Celestial objects," Hermione corrected.

"I probably have some thrice-great aunt named Andromeda. I do have a great-grandfather named Pollux."

"Did he have a twin?" Harry asked.

"No, but he did have three siblings."

"So Polly may or may not have found out about Castor, but from what I've seen I think she found out who her mother and father were," Hermione said.

"But what made her even suspect Rodolphus wasn't her father?" Ron asked.

That was a question that had been bugging her, and it was Harry who spoke into the sudden quiet of the room: "She's a parselmouth."

"How do you know that?" Ron spoke with indignation.

"I don't, it's just a hunch. She came here to study, but also to look for answers. She tracked down the LeStranges to England, but couldn't be sure they were related so she waited, and watched. Stories started to surface about Voldemort and his unhealthy preoccupation with snakes. Hermione, the tests you did on Castor, how hard would it be for her to have done them?"

"I adapted muggle technology for the tests I did. There is no reason anyone else couldn't. Andrell did extensive work on gene therapy, he probably even had specialized equipment," the witch replied.

"But she didn't want to get too close, so she tested his closest relative and saw they were related. Maybe even was able to get close enough to Bellatrix," Harry speculated further.

Ron piped up again. "So she finds out dear old dad is a murderous lunatic and what? Turns tail and runs home?"

"I couldn't say I'd blame her. Working at St. Mungo's she would have seen firsthand what he was capable of," Hermione replied.

"Either that or presented Voldy with her services," the ginger said darkly.

"Again, possible, but I don't think Andrell—"

"Tom Riddle hid his sociopathic tendencies for years. There's no reason to assume she couldn't. She and Andrell were lovers, and love makes people blind, Hermione," Harry stated firmly.

"So what if she did try to join Voldemort? She'd be dead or hunted among his death eaters, assuming he didn't just obliviate her and ship her back to Australia," Hermione countered.

"There is one way to find out." They all stared at Harry.

"You said yourself I might be able to call Death Eaters through the Dark Mark since I can speak Parseltongue."

"No way, Harry. That is far too dangerous."

"Not if I did it at the Ministry surrounded by an army of angry Aurors eager to arrest anyone that shows up."

"_If_ anyone shows up. That's assuming they believe Voldemort managed to cheat death again."

"Why not? He's done it before."

"We don't even know what the trigger would be."

"I have a hunch," Harry said, and was immediately rewarded with the witch's silence and undivided attention. "He fashioned the Dark Marks after the Chamber of Secrets, right? Well he used a _very specific_ phrase in Parseltongue to call the Basilisk out of the face there. When he came back in the cemetery I was too busy trying not to bleed to death to hear him clearly, but I think he was whispering in Parseltongue. He has a pattern of linking everything he does to his past: hiding his family locket in a cave he visited as a child, the ring, not to menion the Hogwarts Horcruxes. I suspect he used the same phrase as a sort of password to call his followers through his mark."

"It fits," Hermione conceded. "As much as I don't like it, it fits. And it is dangerous with Death Eaters still on the loose."

Ron popped up with excitement. "I'll go tell my dad!" Hermione nodded at him and he sprinted out of the room punching the air. "Gonna hunt us some Death Eaters! Woohoo!"

"What I don't understand is why Polly didn't tell Andrell anything she found out."

"Maybe she did, and he's just trying to protect her."

"Well did you ask him?" Harry asked.

"What did you want me to say? 'Have you per chance fucked the spawn of Satan lately?'" she replied irritably, and was surprised when her friend's face froze in shock. She quickly realized he was not looking at her, but over her shoulder, and both she and Draco, who had their backs to the door turned around just in time to see Castor's horror-stricken face a moment before he disappeared. She banged her head on the desk. Draco, who had been curiously silent during their conversation, started to stand but she stopped him. "I'll go. I'm the asshole."

Hermione quickly make her way out of the library, heading down the hall in the direction she had seen the man depart. There was no trace of him, but she finally caught up to him just outside of the red room. "Castor please let me explain."

"It's perfectly fine. I _am_ the spawn of Satan, and for the record Luna and I are not _fucking_." He turned on his heel and continued into his quarters, but she followed him unrelentingly.

"Castor it's not what you think. We were not even talking about you."

The young man turned his angry, hurt face to her now, crossing his arms over his chest. "Funny thing when people say, 'It's not what you think.' That usually means it's worse."

"You have a twin sister."

That was clearly not what he had expected her to say, as his eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he remained silent so she continued.

"Her name is Pollux. We've just found out about her. That's who we were talking about."

"Oh," he said as he reached for the bed behind him to steady himself while he sat down on it. She joined him.

"I may not know you very well, but I know Luna. She is the kindest most gentle person I've ever known. She is also intuitive beyond her years, so if she chooses to associate with you I know you are not a bad person, regardless of who your parents are."

Castor relaxed at her words, even quirking one side of his mouth when she was describing Luna. _Oh he's got it bad_.

"But I've known that since you got here and I tested you for traces of dark magic."

He looked up at her, but surprisingly his anger did not return.

"I was just trying to protect the people I care for, and you stepped into an environment you knew nothing about. I'm sorry," Hermione pleaded genuinely.

"No. You were just looking out for people you love, and you had no reason to trust me even if my last name wasn't Riddle."

"I'm sorry if you've come to think we look down on you. I can tell you we don't — none of us. Even Professor Snape is intrigued to meet you and that's just… well when you meet him you'll understand."

Castor nodded numbly. When he finally spoke, Hermione let out a breath she had not known she was holding. "What of Pollux?"

"Your sister. She went by Polly. She was also studying to be a healer and was interned right here in England to none other than the healer that was assigned to Professor Snape's case. I don't normally believe in coincidences, but—"

"It wasn't a coincidence. Like seek like."

"And here I always thought like dissolves like."

"For _molecules_, not people. Beauty is drawn to beauty, power is drawn to power, and brilliance is drawn to brilliance. With our brilliant albeit crazy parents she would be an amazing healer. She would have interned herself to the best medi-wizard she could find. That same man would naturally be chosen to care for the most important casualty of the war. And who would have allied herself with the most notable Potions Master in England but the most brilliant witch in England, and her friends? You're all just birds of a feather."

"Birds of a feather," she repeated. "You said parents, in the plural, so you know… who your mother is?"

"Luna's been filling me in. She guessed the second she heard my name and asked Draco about it. She also asked if I had a twin. I'm afraid I owe her a buck," he laughed.

"Well at least you must be a brilliant healer in your own right, Castor."

"I'm not awful," he replied. Maybe Luna was right about Hufflepuff. "Where is Polly now?"

"We're trying to figure that out. Andrell said she went back home — Australia — rather suddenly a few months ago. We have reason to believe she found out about her parents too."

Hermione explained everything they had found out about Polly, and, at the man's request, didn't spare him any of the harder truths.

For his part, Castor took it in stride. Only occasionally did his face go unreadable. She could only imagine what he was going through.

"Rather interesting isn't it? We are sent to opposite ends of the earth, like two pieces of a tablet that would destroy the world if they were brought together, and yet we both become healers. Must be in our genes."

"I suppose it must. I need to check on Professor Snape. Would you care to join me?"

"I think I might just go see Luna for a bit. Another time, though. From what Luna has told me, I would simultaneously love and quake with fear to meet him."

She nodded vigorously and they walked together until their paths diverged, him going to the drawing room to use the floo and her to seek out Snape.

"Come back for more torture already?" the man said when she found him burning the midnight oil in his temporary lab.

"Don't be silly. Working with you is a pleasure, sir." Hermione said, not ingenuinely; she found their working arrangement rather amicable. He just snorted. "But actually I've come to deliver a message."

"Are you offering your services as an owl now?"

"Narcissa Malfoy has been asking after you."

The graceful man paused in mid motion, evidently thinking something over. "Andrell was here earlier. He didn't mention anything about it."

"It was just this evening while we were doing some research. He suggested you come tomorrow evening if you would like to. Maude said that after sundown is when she is most cognizant."

"Very well," the man said tiredly, stacking dirty cauldrons and other equipment in one corner. He filled up the large basin in the room with water from the tap, evidently intending to wash them himself. When he stepped away, she interjected herself into the space he had occupied and began scrubbing the cauldrons herself.

"You and Mrs. Malfoy are close. Did you know each other in school?"

"No, Lucius and Narcissa were in their last year at Hogwarts when I was in my first."

She paused her scrubbing to look at him askance.

"How many first years do you know?" he supplied.

"Not many I suppose."

By now, Hermione knew Snape well enough not to push, so she just continued her work hoping he would elaborate on his statements. After clearing off the detritus in the first cauldron she grabbed a metal brush, carefully scraping every bit of the fine metal in all directions, just as her companion had taught her some seven years ago. It seemed her patience and hard work had paid off when the man spoke again.

"We did not become close until fairly recently. As you probably know the Dark Lord made this Manor his headquarters, and so I was in and out on a regular basis. I saw the strain it put on her, having to play host to that _thing._"

The primordial hatred and vitriolic disgust with which Snape hissed out the last word frightened Hermione. That he then fell silent and she had her back to him while she worked did not help matters.

Hermione chanced a backwards glance. He stood still as a stone, staring at the wall in front of him. Where she had expected to see anger she instead found sadness. The man with so many masks now only showed the dejected grief of one who had been shown and denied the heavens.

She went back to scrubbing.

Once everything was cleaned, Snape resurfaced from his introspection long enough to help her put things away. After perching the last stack of ceramic bowls on a high shelf for her, his eyes unfocused again. "She was kind to me."

Hermione smiled and gently put her hand his shoulder. "Then it's good you'll be here for her."

A curt nod was the only response she received.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, noting him sway slightly on his feet.

"Oh yes. Your elf made certain of that."

"My elf?"

"One who calls herself Wikket?"

"She is not _my elf_."

"I would like to see you convince her of that. Anyway I expect it's just past my bedtime."

Hermione huffed. She had not had a chance to speak with the house elf since Draco informed her of her request. _I can't have a house elf!_ _But if she doesn't want to stay with the Malfoys anymore I can't just leave her out on the street._

The weary witch began to wonder what time it was, given that she was having arguments with herself and losing. With impeccable timing, one of her paper birds flew into the room at that moment and landed on the table next to her. She had improved her spell slightly, bewitching the cranes to land on a nearby surface and peck out the time on it instead of her.

"Twelve pecks means its midnight," she said.

"What on Earth is that?"

"It's just a reminder." Hermione was reticent to tell Snape about the delicium spell in case it case it didn't pan out, but being learned in the art of information procurement he managed to get it out of her. She told him about the dissuasion spell, and why the reminder was needed, and soon found herself blabbering on about everything they had found out.

Hermione was unsure if it was just becoming easier to talk to the normally stuffy Potions Professor, or if he was purposefully setting her at ease to get information. Either way, before she knew it all of her sentences were punctuated with at least one yawn, and she had imparted upon Snape all of the news of the day, including many bits she had forgotten.

"Now it is definitely past my bedtime," the man said.

"Andrell would kill me if he knew I kept you up this late."

"Nonsense. I have not had the indulgence of intelligent conversation since Albus," he said, just as another paper crane flitted into the room and pecked once at the table. They had been talking a full hour.

She grabbed it as she followed Snape out of the room, unfolding the struggling bird to show him the one word written on it: _Dilectio_.

"I don't even have to read them anymore. Just one look at the bird and I remember."

"Memories can be strengthened with repetition, even against a dissuasion spell. It's meant to be very subtle so that whoever it is cast on does not recognize it easily, though this means it is not as powerful as, say, just obliviating someone."

"I just don't understand; how is the dissuasion still even present if Voldemort was the one to set it?" she asked.

"Well, let us see. Based on what you have said the dissuasion on the delicium spell has been around for quite some time. At least since the first war."

She nodded.

"So we would be looking for something living that has been around for at least twenty years or so, is either mobile or in abundance and widespread, and wouldn't object to having a spell carved into it."

"That about sums it up. Inferi are out of the question. They would have been detected long ago."

"And you're sure there is no such spell in the Dark Mark?"

"I've checked both Draco's and his father's. Would—it be alright if I checked yours as well, Professor?"

He was silent as they walked one entire hallway, and she thought she might have overstepped in their newfound friendship… or camaraderie… or whatever this was, until he rumbled out a reply.

"Certainly," he said and came to a full stop in front of a table at the end of the hall. Above it was the painting of Elisabeth, and the beautiful young girl crouched down on her knees, fighting for control of her skirts while she looked on at them with keen interest.

Snape shed his black robe, setting it on the table next to them before unbuttoning one sleeve of his stark white linen shirt and rolling it up. She retrieved her wand from up her sleeve and stepped closer to the man, cradling his arm in her hand. Like Draco had before him, the man fidgeted nervously , though not so violently that she could not work. The spell pulsed eighty-six times, and she let him go with a thanks. He bowed to her and with a curt, "Good night," turned around and stalked back the way they had come. It was only then she realized they had walked far past his quarters.

Hermione continued on to Draco's room, expecting the boy to be asleep, possibly in his own bed, and wondered where she might sleep if that were the case. Perhaps the oversized ottoman was still available.

"Hermione!" a voice cried the moment she opened the door. She was also immediately picked up in an enveloping embrace. "I'm sorry," Draco's voice was muffled slightly as his face was buried in her bushy hair. "I'm so sorry. I'll never do that again; just please never leave like that. I was so worried."

His reaction to her disappearance was mildly unsettling. Neither Ron nor Harry acted like that when she went off to brood. "I'm fine, Drake. I can take care of myself."

"I know… Rationally, I know that. But there is nothing rational about what I feel for you. Promise not to do that again. You can hex me into silence or petrify me and wheel me into a closet for a week, just please promise me you won't leave me like that again."

"Okay, Drake, I promise," she said, taken aback by the evident panic she had caused.

Draco pulled away from her slightly, reaching out one hand to impart whisper soft touches across her cheek. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through her, heating her up from the inside out. Now she knew what it was like to be touched. With Ron it had been different. It was new and exciting, but never anything like this.

The searching look on his face bore into her very soul and she quickly lost all ability to think as his hand continued into her hair, tugging on it slightly to tilt her face to one side, and gently pressed his lips against hers. It felt so soft, and so right, as their mouths flattened to meet each other, that when he began to pull back she didn't let him.

Taking this as a cue, Draco pulled her face closer and tighter until she thought their teeth my clash. After just a moment he used his grip in her hair to once again force her head back slightly. Before she could voice her objections, his free hand came around and his thumb pushed on her chin, gently opening her mouth a fraction.

When they met again it was as before; soft adhesion of lips, but this time the tip of his tongue started slowly tracing hers. His eyes looked into hers, and she was caught up by the delightful sensation he was causing, and the steel grey glint of his gaze making it even more intense.

She had always been told you were supposed to keep your eyes closed when kissing someone. Screw that, those people had clearly never kissed Draco.

After what felt like only seconds, he pulled away from her, eliciting an involuntary whimper from deep in her throat.

"You could have just owled," she said eventually.

"I did owl, and owl, and owl again," he said, pulling a stack of undelivered letters from a desk drawer. "Wikket couldn't find you either. Do you want to explain to me exactly how you made a pitched tent unplottable?"

"Heh," was her only response, too tired to go into magic theory at the moment.

"I really am sorry."

"I know. You decided chumming it up with Harry and Ron would get me to forgive you?"

"Did it work?"

"Oh, yes. I thought I'd apparated into a parallel universe or possibly hell."

He just laughed. "They're not as bad as I thought, really. Weasley may need a personal tutor for the next year or the rest of his life, but when they aren't insulting you they are not entirely unpleasant." The blonde made a move to chuck the letters he held into the bin.

"Hey! I thought those were for me."

"They mostly just say 'please come home,' and since you're home now…"

"I've never received love letters before," she said while plucking them out of his hands and dancing away before he could snatch them back. She kept walking through the sitting room away from him. "I'm going to bed now. Goodnight.," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared into Draco's bedroom.

To her relief he did not follow her. It was not that she didn't trust him; it was herself she did not trust with him. She had shared a bed with Ron dozens of times over the previous summers, but never felt the need to go beyond the hours of intense make out sessions he was so fond of. She cared for him, yes. They frequently found comfort in each other's arms to dampen the dread of the impending war. She loved Ron as a friend, but never found anything more in her heart.

Did that mean she was in love Draco?

Hermione lit a few of the candles in the room with a swish of her wand. She suspected Wikket had been setting out nightclothes for her every night even in her absence. The rumpled frown directed at the gown on the bed went unanswered, however, as her bedclothes didn't know if she loved Draco either.

She quickly stripped, and put on the silky white chemise. After settling into bed, she started reading the letters Draco had sent to her. They were filled with apologies, and pleas, and doting words, but they all fell just short of a proclamation of love.

Draco had told her he was falling in love with her, and that he would await her reply. He never once pushed her. This was her arena now. If there was to be a next move, it would have to be hers.

Hermione set the letters on the bedside table, and pulled the comforter up to her nose. She could not wait for the morning: a real shower and maybe Wikket would even tame her hair again.

The last lingering thought in her soon sleep-befuddled mind was,_ 'Yes, I'm definitely home.'_


	18. Détente

**Author's Note**: Thanks for the R&Rs! :D

* * *

Chapter 18 — Détente

* * *

Severus sat idly twirling a quill, leaving tiny flecks of red ink on the parchment in front of him.

He had reached a crucial stage in the brewing process: trying to fine-tune the final two ingredients. As such he had practically taken up residence in his temporary lab.

His one experiment had now diverged into four, with one "control." To the first and second cauldrons he had added a healthy dose of grated Elder root, then stirred the first seventeen times clockwise, and the second five times anti-clockwise followed by one figure eight. The third and fourth both received unicorn piss stirred seven times but in opposite directions. Once he was satisfied that the ingredients had infused completely, he would switch ingredients and stirring methods.

In the fifth cauldron he repeated the procedures of his last ill-fated attempt to ensure it produced the impurity that had manifested itself: he added dried crushed petals from an amber rose and stirred an outward spiral into the sweet smelling substance.

Since the status of the experimental potions could change rapidly, Severus had no choice but to monitor them constantly. Unfortunately all they did was lazily bubble away for the vast majority of the time, so he had brought along the story Hermione had written to entertain himself.

The enchanted inkwell he was using seemed to sense his intentions and present him with red ink. Telling himself he wasn't trying to grade this as a teacher, he asked it very kindly for black ink. All that got him was a more intense red color. After trying unsuccessfully to reason with the pot for several minutes he gave in.

Severus was quite proud of himself, all things told. There were no more than a dozen or so notes, questions, or corrections on any one page (excluding the flecks), and he had yet to insult her! The story had turned out to be an interesting read, though the naiveté and over-exuberance of its author sometimes showed.

In fact, he had a question on something she had written about, being unfamiliar with the existing storyline himself, and so was hoping to see a bushy haired brunette walk into the room when the door to the lab started to creek open.

Instead he found painfully emerald eyes and messy hair, the owner of which looked like he was coming to poke a sleeping snake. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was looking for Hermione," Harry said haltingly with his head still jammed in the door. Severus calculated at least half a dozen ways he could kill the boy without magic or even much use of force before he could even say "quidditch pitch." How on Earth had Potter survived the war?

"Given that you have made a thorough sweep of the room with your eyes no less than three times since your arrival and can clearly see she is not here, I assume you had something else you wanted to discuss?"

"I, er… no," Harry said, withdrawing his head and closing the door.

_Hrumph._ How long will it take him to pluck up the courage to return?

Five seconds later the door flew open, and Potter stepped into the room. "Okay, yes. I was just worried about you. I wanted to see how you are."

"How touching."

"I am completely serious."

"What makes you think I'm not?" Severus huffed.

"Do you really need a list?"

"Have you heard of a rhetorical question?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?"

Snape gestured inclusively over his person. "I am _fine_: still here, fully formed and functional."

"I see that, it's just... I know what I saw in your mind. I know people can be perfectly functional but miserable inside."

"What do you suggest we do? Beat drums and chant around a bonfire?"

"I just want to make sure you don't hurt yourself," Harry said very quietly.

"I may have been temporarily indulging in self-pity, a concept I'm sure you're completely unfamiliar with, but I can assure you my momentary lapse into melancholia is at an end," Snape said dismissively, already returning his attention to the story in front of him.

Harry did not reply immediately. When he did speak his hushed voice wavered slightly and yet was filled with such utter certainty Severus knew he was not going to easily get rid of Harry. "Feelings as powerful as that don't just go away."

"What do you want me to do? Take an unbreakable vow that I won't poison myself? Don't you think that would be a bit redundant?" Severus said cavalierly, but at his words Harry's head snapped up.

"Is that how you'd planned to do it, then?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Severus was having trouble keeping his emotions in check now. Harry was baiting him, and he knew it. Worst of all, he seemed to know he knew it.

He was so tired of mind games.

"Brew a potion just slightly off — after all even a Master Potioneer can make mistakes — take a healthy swig at bedtime and never wake up? I've seen how your nightmares affect you. I can't blame you for wanting to escape them."

"Do not speak of that about which you know nothing!" the older man hissed. He could not even look the boy in the face; he just sat seething and willing Harry to go away. Everyone else did when faced with his wrath, why couldn't Potter?

"At least answer me one question," Harry said, though Snape tried to ignore the painfully blatant empathy in his voice. "Would you make it painless?"

He felt himself grow cold, and his normally stiff face freeze to stone.

"Would you take a sleeping potion too? And make sure you didn't wake up as your kidneys started failing or your liver started to shut down? Would you do yourself even that one last kindness?"

They were both caught in unmoving silence; the only sounds the gently bubbling potions in the cauldrons nearby. Finally, when he was sure Harry wasn't going to go away, he spoke, and, even as he did so, marveled at the calmness of his voice: "Essense of Tanthem injected just behind the ear causes a brief feeling of euphoria followed by mild convulsions as it enters the blood stream until it stops the heart."

"Oh, Severus."

Silence fell upon the room once again. He chanced a brief glimpse at the boy who wore a sad frown and was shaking his head minutely.

"I don't need your judgment."

"I'm not judging you. I'm trying to help you."

"Why?!" Severus snapped. "Why do you even care?"

He immediately regretted asking the question when he heard the desperate entreaty that suffused Harry's voice. "Because Albus_ loved_ you, Severus. Because my mother _loved _you… and because I _love_ you."

Snape surveyed Potter calculatingly, like he had everyone he came in contact with over the last twenty years. That was the second time he had make a proclamation of love, though the first time was followed with a disclaimer of general love for humanity he was fairly certain was genuine. But this time? He wasn't so sure. Perhaps Harry had been so entrenched in his thoughts and feelings for so long that he'd grown some silly infatuation.

Perhaps he should stop over-analyzing everything and say, _'Thank you now kindly go away,' _but Harry beat him to it.

"I don't expect you to be thankful, or even cooperative really. I just… I don't know. At least consider not hating me with every fiber of your being." He ran his hand through his hair, fatigue etched on his perfectly chiseled face. "I'll just go now." With that he turned to leave, opening the thick oak door that let in an influx of fresh cool air.

"Potter. Wait," Severus called, freezing Harry in mid-step. "I need you."

He turned. "Come again?"

"I need… your help. I've just had a visit from Professor McGonagall. It appears the curse Voldemort put on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position has become widespread knowledge, and, though _I _am certain it has been broken with his defeat, no suitable candidates have presented themselves. As such, Minerva and I will be forced to take the classes, but they will not receive their due attention since we both have other duties to attend to."

"Other duties?"

Severus took a deep breath. "In their distinctly finite wisdom the Governors thought it best not to change Heads at this 'delicate time,' and Minerva has said she is happy to dispatch her duties as Deputy. I believe her exact word were, 'Good luck with those self-preserving bureaucratic baffoons.' Though why any of them would think it advisable to even let me near the school I can hardly fathom."

The last sentence, sarcasm-laced as it was, slipped out before he could shut his big mouth.

"Why wouldn't they want you?" Potter asked as innocently as he did ignorantly. Severus' face burned.

"I allowed Death Eaters into a school full of _children_, you idiot! I allowed _students_ to perform Unforgiveable curses on each other!" he hissed, genuine pain creeping into his voice.

Harry snorted. "Oh please, like any of those brats could get off a decent Unforgiveable."

Severus froze with shock. "That's hardly the point!"

"You did what you had to do, same as Dumbledore, same as me… same as everyone else."

"Oh you have spent too much time around Albus," Severus murmured.

"He made decisions no human being should ever have to make," Harry snapped back defensively.

"Like raising you up just so you could be killed after doing his work for him?"

"He must have known there was some chance I would survive."

"If you say so," Snape said.

"He was a great man, and so are you. You will both be remembered as such long after we're all dead and buried."

"Now who's the one fixating on death?"

"Stop trying to misdirect me," Harry said calmly, though his eyes flashed and the stubborn set of his chin told Severus he had just lost the argument.

"Very well, I temporarily yield to your superior oratory prowess."

"Not everything is about winning and losing."

"Oh look who's talking, Mr. Twi-Wizard Champion."

"_It was a tie." _Potter let out a breath in a huff, and was noticeably restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Why did you want me?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is it you needed me to help you with, so you can devote enough attention to your classes?"

"Oh, well, take them for me."

"You want me to teach?" he practically squawked.

"Technically you would be a Teacher's Assistant, so if anyone gets blown up or any important body parts are irreparably severed both you and the school would have limited liability."

"You want me to teach _Defense Against the Dark Arts,_" Harry said, gesticulating like he was speaking to an exceptionally dim troll.

"I believe that is what I just said, yes."

"But you've wanted that position for… forever!"

Now it was Severus' turn to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. "If your definition of 'forever' is 'at most thirty-eight years,' I know a few astrophysicists that might take you to task. Your ignorance on the origins of the universe aside, I never wanted to teach at all! When Dumbledore came up with the plan to insert me as a spy the Dark Lord ordered me secure the Defense position. He wanted me to monitor and report on the students' abilities and eventually start recruiting for him. The Dark Lord was planning to life the curse on it, but Dumbledore and I decided the potential benefit of feeding him false information did not outweigh the danger of inevitably having to feed him even more correct information, so Slughorn got an early retirement. The Dark Lord was… less than pleased."

Severus, who was leaning into the table in front of him, knew he looked haunted, but with the omnipresent threat of death via megalomaniac suddenly removed he found it harder and harder to suppress his emotions.

Harry reached out a hand to cover one of his own. Strangely, his hesitant touch was immediately calming, that is to say until Snape looked down at the table where their hands met. It looked like the back of Harry's hand had been soaked in an accelerant and lit on fire. Only upon closer inspection was he able to make out letters in the torrents of slowly healed flesh. "What the hell?!" he said. Harry immediately snatched his hand away. "Oooooho-ho no you don't," _you little brat_, "I'm not going to be the only one that has to share."

Snape ripped the boy's arm from where he cradled it against himself. The scars were bright, and badly disfigured, but once it came into focus he could read the words clearly: _I must not tell lies_. He lifted his dark gaze to Harry, fixing him with a face that clearly demanded an explanation.

"It doesn't signify," Harry said rather stiffly. "It's over now."

"Oh I think it signifies very much," he said, but released Potter's shaking arm. "Sit. Explain," Severus demanded and began setting up a cauldron to brew the exact same potion he had for Miss Granger's injury.

When Potter didn't speak right away, Snape took a sideways glance at him. He was sulking in the chair in the corner. The comfortable one he'd had put in there when he'd started practically sleeping in here. _His chair_. Gods the boy was as bad as, well…. as himself.

"Does everyone in Gryffindor refuse to ask for help when they need it or is that just you and your friends?" Snape asked not unkindly, trying to draw him out.

"I'm pretty sure is a requirement of acceptance, actually," Harry said finally.

"Why does that not surprise me? Though I don't believe I've ever seen words written into people before, not that are still living, let alone two days in a row."

"What? You mean, Hermione?"

Snape just nodded once.

"Did she tell you what happened?"

"Yes. I was able to help with some of the scarring. I can do the same for your hand if you'd like."

"Thank you… for helping her. Us, I mean."

"I haven't done anything for you yet," Severus pointed out, but was met with an extended silence while he began brewing, using the familiar scents and sounds to ground himself.

He was in the middle of adding the fig roots when the cauldron farthest from him cracked. Once the roots were in and stirred he quickly removed it from the burner.

"What happened?" Harry asked with surprising.

"The final ingredient was incorrect." Severus dumped the contents of the cauldron down the sink before holding it up to show Potter. "An amber rose by any other name would crack my cauldron."

He quickly scrubbed and scoured it, then called for Dewbie to take it away. Instead of Dewbie, a house-elf he didn't recognize popped into the room. "Professor Snape, I am Flixxie. Dewbie is on an errand, but we are interchangeable. I will make sure this is melted down." The house-elf looked up at him, smiling sweetly, and held out her tiny arms. The moment he placed the gold cauldron in them she disapparated.

"Interchangeable?" Harry asked.

Snape just shrugged. His family had never had house elves, and though he became accustomed to their presence in the castle their ways still managed to surprise him now and then.

Harry went back to thinking, and Severus went back to brewing.

"I don't think I'd be a very good teacher."

"On the contrary I hear you already were one," he said without missing a beat.

"The DA was just a school club."

"Then it's just a coincidence that all of the students that participated in it not only caterwauled your praises but were also able to perform seventh year Defense skills in fourth and fifth year?"

"Well, maybe."

"The odds against that are astronomical. Besides I have heard you will only be taking two classes, and I can't think of a better way for you to spend your free time."

"I wouldn't have any free time."

"That's exactly the point. Less chance to get into trouble," Snape said triumphantly.

"I expect I'll just have to condense the trouble into smaller amounts of time."

"No, don't do that."

"Why not?"

"You'll have to give yourself detention."

"Oh good point."

The older man turned towards his companion, satisfied it was safe to turn his back on the potion he was brewing for now. "What I propose is this: I will take the NEWT students and Minerva will teach the OWL students, with you filling in for us as needed. That would leave you free reign with the young impressionable minds of the first through fourth years."

"Do you really think that's advisable?"

"The curriculums are already in place, though you may feel free to alter the order in which each subject is presented. If there are additions or subtractions you wish to make, you would need to let me know as I have to get it approved by the Governors."

"You're really serious about this."

"Have you ever known me not to be serious?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak then quickly snapped it shut. "Rhetorical question, right," he mumbled.

"The truth is there are plenty of more experienced candidates, but few if any have experience in the field of education. You show a keen, albeit unexpected, aptitude for teaching. Furthermore, after last year I cannot afford to have a member on staff I cannot trust with the children, and that therefore shoots you right to the top of a very short list."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, slightly taken aback by sideways compliment. "How many people are on this list, exactly?"

"Really just you."

"That is short."

"All of the surviving Order members have been supplanted into important positions in the Ministry. If by some miracle one of them decided to give up that glamorous and seemly life while simultaneously being stricken with the inexplicable desire to teach they would be considered as a candidate. Assuming they are capable of being in the same room with a group for first years for an hour without making them all cry, they may even be granted the position at which point they would take over all of the Defense classes, though you may still retain your position as assistant if you desire."

"The Board of Governors has to approve all teaching positions, yes? You really think they will accept me?" Harry's voice was laced with expectation.

"If it's any consolation you can't possibly be worse than Lockhart." That earned him a scathing look.

"Your confidence is underwhelming."

"I expect Molly Weasley would be quite taken with the idea and pity anyone that dare stand in her way. Luckily for the Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's, the Governors would not need to be consulted on the matter, as it is at the discretion of the Headmaster or Headmistress to approve assistant appointments. I am the Headmaster. I approve."

Harry leaned back in the chair slightly, as if taking in Severus in a new light. "I still need to pass the NEWTs I'm taking in August."

"I have complete faith in your ability to learn what Miss Granger shoves down your throat."

"Good point. Very well, if it will help you out, I accept. May I see the curriculum notes as soon as possible? By preference for all seven years, so I know what exactly I am preparing my students for."

Snape couldn't help the approval at Harry's initiative from showing on his face. He was already calling them 'my students' for heaven's sake. "Certainly, I will owl Minerva this afternoon."

He turned to check on the potion for Harry's hand, which had now turned the correct shade of sickly brown. After letting it cool a few moments he brought a dish full over to the chair. "Let me see your hand."

The hesitantly extended appendage shook slightly until he held it in his, rubbing the glop into the words in tiny circles. This time he tried the healing spell non-verbally, and was delighted to see it working. He could feel the skin growing warm.

"It was Umbridge."

Severus didn't have to ask to know he was telling him who was responsible for the scars on his hand. "I'd heard rumors of the sort. Why did you let it go on for so long?"

"At the time I thought it was quite selfless and courageous of me: suffering in silence. I just couldn't handle the idea of letting her win," he said while involuntarily clenching his hands into fists.

Snape stopped to press his left hand flat again before continuing the treatment. "Is that the same reason you lived in a cupboard for ten years and let yourself be nearly starved to death on multiple occasions?"

The young man averted his eyes, but Severus just kept on with his ministrations. He suspected he already knew the answer to that question.

"No," Harry said to the wall. "That was because no one else wanted me."

"No. You were raised to _believe_ no one else wanted you. You were hidden away in a cupboard and nearly starved to death because the people responsible for your safety failed you abysmally."

"The Dursleys hate magic," Harry said with finality.

"I was referring to Albus. Not to mention Black and Lupin."

"I expect they frown upon raising children in Azkaban, and Remus would never have been granted custody even if he fought for it."

"He still should have checked in on you, and Black was only in prison because he wanted to be."

Harry sat up so quickly he knocked the dish of healing balm off the chair-side table. Luckily Severus was able to hover it in mid air and levitate it over to the table before it could suffer further abuse. "What? How can you say that?!"

"Black always claimed innocence but had no interest in clearing his name. He refused to give his alibi and so was not granted a trial."

"Sirius went to kill Pettigrew that night. It would not much have helped his case."

"But the fact Wormtail had an animagus would have come out. Black had to have known there was a good chance the rat bastard survived. Instead, he went to prison and let a murderer roam free. Why is that, do you think? You're reasonably clever; you must have worked it out by now."

"I expect he did not want himself revealed as an unregistered animagus as well?"

"Please, a mere slap on the wrist. He was not even an adult when he began the transformations."

"Perhaps he went crazy and began to believe he really had killed all those people," the boy hazarded.

"And spontaneously became sane again after seeing just one picture in the _Prophet_?"

"Maybe! I don't know!" Potter was growing defensive, but still Severus pressed his point.

"Maybe… or maybe he was just wracked with guilt because he had been too scared to cast the Fidelus charm himself and had gotten his best friend killed. Maybe he stayed in Azkaban all those years because seeing you would constantly remind him how he had failed the only people who ever loved him as he was."

To Snape's surprise, Harry did not explode. The anger was there, writing lithely beneath the surface of his eyes, but simple words at a reasonable volume were all that came out of his mouth: "Further proving that no one else wanted me. I fail to see your point."

Had Potter actually just called him out on a circular argument? He must regain the upper hand, and quickly. "My point was you're far too damn stubborn for your own good. You should not have been treated like that growing up. Your guardians all failed you: Lupin, Black, and don't even get me started on Albus."

"And what of you, _Headmaster_? You were my mother's best friend. Wouldn't you have as much responsibility for me as Lupin? You _knew_ my Aunt Petunia. Surely you must have known what my life would be like under her roof."

"I never said I wasn't also to blame." Severus finished with Harry's treatment and stood up. He turned around again and studied his own hands intently. "The last I heard of Petunia she was writing Dumbledore asking to be admitted to Hogwarts. Why would I assume she was anything but head over heels for magic? Your mother didn't talk about her much, and not long after that we didn't talk at all."

"Dumbledore must have known what I went through. I was kept locked away in a cupboard? Well, my Hogwarts acceptance letter was address to me in 'The Cupboard Under the Stairs.' After the first one came my uncle got spooked. He refused to give me the letter and moved me to my cousin's second bedroom. The next letters to come were addressed to me in 'The Smallest Bedroom'."

"The acceptance letters are addressed using _the_ _trace_, Harry, which, evidently, has a very sardonic sense of humor. Making sure all eligible witches and wizards are invited is one of the few uses of the trace the Ministry allows, and even then the letters are sent to the Ministry in bulk and shipped out from there. We are not allowed to see the addresses. Normally we would have no need to, and how else do you think people agreed to the trace in the first place? Most parents are still not happy with the idea that the Ministry can track their child's every movement. Officially it's only used if a child goes missing or there is evidence of abuse. People don't always trust the Ministry."

"I can't possibly fathom why."

"And yet you trusted Dumbledore."

"So did you. You still do. You trust him so much that the only people you trust are the people he trusts, and the only people you'd consider hiring are members of the Order, _his _Order."

"I trusted him, _and_ I trusted his judgment. Certainly you can understand the distinction."

"I can, and do, but when are you going to learn to trust for yourself?"

"Probably never," he answered honestly.

"Oh that's healthy."

"You're trying to change the topic."

"Fine," Harry said while he threw up his hands. "By all means. Make your point."

"You trusted a man that allowed you to be treated like dirt, thinking he was fully aware of what you endured. Why?"

"He just… he was so wise. I saw him as practically all-knowing at first. I'm still not entirely sure he wasn't. I figured that if I was with anyone else, I might put them in danger. Someone as smart as him must have looked at every possibility and concluded that was the only way."

"Indeed, Albus did have a way of instilling a preternatural confidence into people. I always told him it was dangerous!" Severus kicked a stool over. A moment later Flixxie the elf popped into the room to right it before popping out again.

"You're saying you think people overestimated him?"

"Not exactly. I think they assumed he would know about things like, for example, the rampant case of child abuse occurring on Privet Drive, and that someone that thought him all-knowing, such as yourself, would fail to speak up because of it."

"It wasn't child abuse," Harry said.

Severus was struck with myriad emotions. Anger at Potter's idiocy was jilted the moment it began to percolate; he himself had been in denial that his own father's actions were abusive for most of his life. Mostly what he felt was heartache. "Yes, Harry. Yes it was. Even if your Uncle never laid a hand on you, which I know he did so don't deny it, your entire family was mentally abusive. That can be just as harmful, if not more so because people don't always recognize it for the abuse it is."

"How do you even know about this if Dumbledore wasn't the one that told you?"

"Let's just say I suddenly had a very open mind when it came to you. Quite literally."

"Oh, right. Takes one to know what I guess."

Snape sniffed. "Indeed."

"So what do we do now? Go shout at Dumbledore's gravestone?"

"If you think it would help, by all means. Personally, as soon as I can do more than shuffle between this room and the bedroom next door I must return to Hogwarts. Managing a school through owl post is quite tedious, even if Minerva is extremely capable. She insists on having my input."

Even as Severus spoke he cursed himself. He had tried so hard to make Harry admit he had been poorly handled, but at the proffered invitation of co-misery Severus had completely shut him down. _Idiot_!

A rather curious look overtook Harry's face just then: somewhere in between hope and confusion with a smattering of purpose. "I might be able to help with that."

The youth sprung from the chair and was at the door in a heartbeat.

"Don't forget to ask McGonagall for those curriculums, please." Harry spoke with his hand on the door handle. Once he turned it and pushed the door open he glanced over his shoulder, looking as if he wanted to say a thousand things all at once. "Malfoy did some research on this… soul bond we share, or whatever it is. It's not the first time it's happened, as you know, though there are other incidents of such a bond that did not come about in quite the same way ours did. It has something to do with our soul essences being a match favored by nature or something like that. His explanation was more technical. Really he's beginning to sound like Hermione."

"What do you mean 'beginning'?" Severus said. Harry completely ignored him.

"Anyway, he found that, in all of the cases, neither of the bonded outlived each other for very long. Either they died together or within a few months of each other. It appears our life spans are now irrevocably tied together. So if you won't believe I want you well because I care for you, at least believe I want you well in the interest of my own self-preservation. Tell yourself whatever you need to." By the end of Potter's speech Severus had paled, and his heart was pounding so fast he thought it might explode. For his part, Harry looked, if possible, even more tired, and reserved, and definitely bitter.

With that he was gone.

Severus looked numbly at the slightly ajar door. He slowly walked forward and closed it. As the tumblers fell into place in the locket tears formed in the bleakness of his eyes.

How casually Potter had said that their lives were now inextricably bound. Just based on a bit of research Draco did he proclaimed his own life sentence just to ensure Severus' safety, and he had not even seemed bothered by it.

What was worse, Snape had known the truth of Potter's words even as he spoke them. He _felt_ the truth in them reverberating in his very soul, seeking a solace in which to ground themselves.

What would Lily think of him now? He had sworn on her grave to protect him, to die for him, not with him! How abysmally he had failed his task. Why couldn't the boy have just let him die?

He wanted to march after him and throttle him.

Instead, he slid down the wall into a heap on the floor, and, for the first time since that fateful night in the Shrieking Shack, he wept.

* * *

Harry left Snape's lab at a sprint, intent on finding Hermione immediately. She was, unsurprisingly, in the library. When he excitedly requested the portrait of Phineas Black, the witch did not even ask questions, she just pointed at her purse.

He rummaged around a bit, yelped when something bit him, and finally felt the smooth hard surface of the canvas' frame. It was rather tricky trying to get it out. Really, Hermione had made it look easy. After several unsuccessful attempts, he shrunk the portrait, earning a few scathing comments from its occupant, removed it, and unshrunk it.

"Thanks!" he said, before dashing off again.

"What the devil are you doing, boy?" Black called from the canvas.

It was always slightly uncomfortable, speaking with a painting. Maybe it was just because he was raised by Muggles, but he found walking and speaking with a painting positively unnerving. "The headmaster needs you."

"Oh is he here? About time! The layabout."

He dropped the portrait unceremoniously on the floor. "Oh dear my grip must of slipped."

"Now see here you cheeky parvenu…"

As he approached the lab he thought he heard sounds of a scuffle. His wand was in his hand in a heartbeat. "Shhh!"

"There is no need to be rude!"

"Quiet I hear something." He set the painting down along the wall outside the lab. When no further auditory cues presented themselves he pressed his ear against the door. Though severely arrested by the thick door, the unmistakable sounds of crying reached him.

His first instinct was to turn around and leave. Experience, however, had taught him that his social instincts were at best askew. The next instinct was the barge in and demand to be told what was wrong. No, no, that was off too.

In the end he was stuck frozen in place, unwilling to leave someone so clearly in pain, but too uncertain of himself to enter.

Harry put his hand against the door, fingers spread just slightly apart. He wished it was Severus he was giving a touch of comfort to, but the door would have to do for now.

Without slipping past his shields, he tried to send wordless feelings of caring in the man's direction. _Please_, he begged. _Please tell me how to help you. I don't know what to do_.

As expected his words went unanswered. He had not even had a stray thought from Snape's mind since they left the hospital. As silly as it sounded, he found odd solace in trying to comfort Snape through the door. He stayed, thinking warm fuzzy thoughts, until the room was silent once again.

Harry trotted back down the hallway to retrieve Black's portrait. He fully intended on knocking then, but just barely lost his courage. Snape might feel self conscious or feel compelled to hide the redness of his face.

He set the now thankfully empty portrait down in front of the door and left.

* * *

Severus did not hear Harry leave (the imposing wooden door was adept at keeping the outside world at bay), but he felt it. He had felt the youth's arrival as well, though how he could not say.

His misery had crescendoed until he truly feared it would stifle him, and his thoughts were on the outskirts of panic. That was when he noticed it: the slightest influx of magic directed towards him. He was too entrenched in desolation to event attempt to block it. Had it been unfriendly in nature Severus could not have even tried to mount a defense at that moment.

He just withdrew further into himself with nihilistic finality.

It only took seconds to realize the magic was not trying to harm him. In fact, it felt like healing magic, but he did not recognize any spell. He had no missing bones or snapped tendons or ripped flesh, and he had yet to find a healer who could fix a broken heart, so he did not expect it to do much.

Slowly, however, his panic subsided. The astringent maelstrom thundering in his head began to unravel, and soon he was no longer being presented with image after image of all of his failures, and everyone he had lost.

The simple ability to think clearly, so often taken for granted, returned to him with an involuntary sigh of relief.

Though the tension in his muscles had waned, he remained huddled on the floor, head resting on his knees with his eyes squeezed shut. Perhaps he was only in the eye of the storm, and, like everything good in his life, this tranquility was merely transitory.

A few minutes had passed, and his serenity held true. It was only slightly rumpled by the voice he heard in his mind. It had been nearly a week that he'd been alone with his thoughts, but still he recognized the touch of Harry's voice immediately. _'Please tell me how to help you.'_

He raised his head and opened his eyes, his gaze involuntarily going to where the thought had come from.

Though he had worried after Harry's abilities at first, the younger man had not even let a stray feeling out since their arrival at the Manor. Now he was practically screaming through the shield on his mind, trying to reach out to Severus.

Without taking down his defenses, he hesitantly reached out to see if he could hear anything else. Harry's mind was silent, but he was practically broadcasting his despair. Even Severus could not ignore it: Potter was consumed with worry for him.

After he was silent for an appreciable amount of time, he felt the youth's despair and worry dissipate followed by feelings of intense uncertainly, about what he did not know. There was a muted bump on the door, and then he sensed the feelings recede as Harry retreated down the hallway.

Severus needed to find out more about this strange bond they shared. Their Legilimency link was strange enough, but Harry could calm him with a simple touch, or even by thinking nice thoughts in his general direction

Come to think of it he felt different when he was anywhere near him… better, in some way he could not quite fathom.

His night terrors.

He had always woken up from them in the past, but he'd only done so twice since he arrived and not at all when he was in the hospital. Both times he had woken he had been alone. Was that why Harry was sitting with him at night? Did having him near simply make them go away? Was it just his presence or any presence?

With more questions than answers he returned to his chair and story, happily losing himself in the sordid romance.


	19. Bearing Witness

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading!

* * *

**Response to Moi (Guest Reviewer):**

Re: Ch 15 (slightly delayed reaction): From what I recalled when I was writing the chapter Harry himself was the oddity; not necessarily his scar, but the fact that he lived with it.

On top of that, at the time, the HP wiki had indicated the wand movement for the killing curse looked somewhat like a sine curve. I have since checked again and now it simply says "Point wand at victim." I cannot find another spell that has a sinusoidal wand movement, so I'm not sure if I was looking at something else or if that information has since been changed and/or corrected.

At the time I figured, with the jerky angular writing we saw Tom Riddle use when writing his name in the air in the Chamber of Secrets, that sine curve might have turned into more of an "N." That, coupled with the fact Voldy sometimes leans forward when casting, especially when he and Harry are doing their "my schwartz is bigger than yours" thing, the "N" would be elongated upwards from the beginning of the cast, and that the lighting shaped scar could have been a direct result of the movement of his wand.

(Go to wolfram alpha's website and copy and paste "plot y=arcsin(sinx) + x/2 from 0 to 2pi" except picture it more condensed along the x-axis and more stretched out along the y-axis, I'm not sure how to get it to do that yet, where sin(x) represents the original wand movement, the arcsin function represents the effect of Voldemort's chicken scratch writing and x/2 is the correction for him leaning forward while casting, and yes I know I'm a nerd.)

This was purely fanciful speculation on my part meant to enrich the story, not shove non-can down people's throats. I've since gone back to check, and I do see that Harry mentions the spider fake-Moody killed was unmarked. There are several possible explanations for this. If the spider was black any marks would have been hard to see, and Harry would probably have been looking for large gaping wounds. Also, spiders aren't people, and some people believe animals do not have souls.

I read another analysis that states Moody himself describes the killing curse as not leaving a mark on its victim. I only checked the first classroom scene, but from what I read there Moody never said that. Even if he does say it at another point (and I will be checking eventually) I feel compelled to point out that Moody isn't Moody at that point, he's really Crouch, Jr. Perhaps Crouch never checked his victims after he killed them and also assumed Harry's scar was only an oddity. Or perhaps he was just bending the truth to make his presentation more dramatic. I don't know.

When I have time to read the entire series again and fact check everything else I'm not sure about I'll probably go back and change that if I find indisputable evidence stating the curse doesn't leave any mark on its human victims.

In the mean time, considering Carl Sagan reversed Einstein's Relativity Theory to make the plot to _Contact_ plausible, I don't feel too bad.

* * *

Chapter 19 — Bearing Witness

* * *

Arthur Weasley himself came to respond to the latest scheme the Golden-Trio-Plus-One had hatched. That was unexpected.

He also came with backup; that was even more unexpected.

When Flixxie escorted Arthur and two Aurors into the library where the trio was studying, Draco being off to manage the latest crisis at Part and Parcel, Harry immediately grew nervous. The elder Weasley seemed to sense his trepidation and smiled at him reassuringly.

"Harry, Hermione so good to see you!" Arthur said enthusiastically, shaking Harry's hand.

"Why do I feel like he doesn't even see me sometimes?" Ron complained.

"I just saw you a few hours ago," his father said and ruffled his hair. "I came to respond to Harry's generous offer to help catch some Death Eaters."

"I thought you said that wasn't going to happen?" Ron asked with evident confusion.

"Well recent events have occurred that have forced my hand."

"Actually I believe your exact words were 'It will be a cold day in hell before—'"

Hermione smacked Ron's shoulder. "Shush, Ron. What events, Mr. Weasley?"

"There were attacks. Two in Surrey and one in Winchester, all against muggles. They were coordinated and well-planned, had us scurrying around all last night trying to cover their trails and help the survivors."

Hermione, who had inhaled sharply and brought her hands to her mouth at Arthur's first words, looked at the man in shock. "Voldemort is gone. How could this have happened?"

"All of the Death Eaters that evaded arrest have been on the run. They scattered to all corners of the continent right after the war, but we think they are organizing themselves now."

A mess of shockingly white blonde hair entered the room at that moment. "Arthur, is everything alright?" Draco asked as he approached the bunch, eying the Aurors warily.

"Draco!" Mr. Weasley greeted him, his friendly smile once again putting everyone at ease. "I was just telling this lot about the attacks last night. We think the Death Eaters are amassing again. Has anyone tried to contact you?"

Malfoy, who had a parcel wrapped up in his hands, shook hands with Arthur, a very grim expression on his face. "Not unless you count the people coming to kill me."

"Well that may change, and soon. The information you gave us about Borgin and Burke's was our best lead."

"I thought they were just making illegal potions?" Harry asked.

"Borgin and Burke Junior," Draco reminded him. "Borgin and Burke Senior were just released from prison. Instead of brow beating their sons they told them to keep up the good work."

"So it's a creepy Dark Arts shop serving as a front for an illegal potions operation which is serving as a front for headquarters to the next pureblood uprising?" Ron asked.

"That about sums it up," said Mr. Weasley. "I don't want you going back there Draco. It is far too dangerous."

"You were able to get an agent in?" the blonde asked.

"Not yet, but we're working on it."

"I might be able to help," Draco offered.

"And you might be able to get yourself killed. Don't worry, we'll take care of it."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, let the adults handle it. Now that Voldemort's gone they don't need us."

"That is enough out of you," Mr. Weasley said sternly to his son. "If you want to risk your neck by all means, but you will join the Aurors first and do so with training, and back up, and insurance."

The younger man rolled his eyes.

"And you're going to be the one to tell your mum, because I don't fancy sleeping on the couch for a year."

"Yes, Dad."

"Mr. Weasley, you said you wanted to try using the Dark Mark to summon the remaining Death Eaters?" Harry asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Oh, yes. The Minister likes the idea, and I think I have a way to increase our chances to have the call answered. It will take some time, which we will have less and less of if there are continued attacks, and I will need help from all of you."

Harry and Hermione nodded, Ron sat up straight in his chair.

"How can we help?" Hermione asked.

"As of right now the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes remains a little-known secret. Since we don't know who else knew about them, on both sides of the war, I think it's likely that secret will come out. It would be best if a reliable source with all of the facts presented the information first." Arthur looked meaningfully at Hermione.

"You want to start a rumor that one of them survived," she stated. It was not a question.

"Exactly. The longer we can put off trying the summons the farther the rumor can spread and the better our chances."

Draco spoke with concern: "You're assuming there is no one else alive that knew how many horcruxes he had, and wouldn't know where to check to see if they were still there."

"Not assuming. It's a calculated risk. Voldemort's last lieutenant was your Aunt, and the only other person we know he trusted with a horcrux was your father." Mr. Weasley didn't need to mention that both of those esteemed personages were no longer among the living.

"I see."

"For now I would prefer to keep the fact he had multiple Horcruxes out of the _official_ story. We will leak a rumor that he indeed had two, and that they were both destroyed, followed later by another rumor that a third was found."

"Three is the second most powerful number in magic. It sounds like something Voldemort would do," Hermione ventured.

"We're counting on that, just as we're counting on the summons to actually work."

"Won't know until we try," Harry shrugged. "If you didn't come here to summon Death Eaters what's with the security detail? Afraid I'll snap and try to kill you?" Harry kept his tone jesting. What he was actually worried about was that the Ministry had decided the Malfoys were still a threat, and that they didn't trust Draco with their new Head of Magical Law Enforcement. If that were the case, Harry would have his work cut out for him, because Hermione would not be happy until things were righted.

"No, if you haven't snapped by now you must be shatterproof. Actually the Minister was hoping to come take your testimony this afternoon along with Professor Snape's. He is still here?"

Harry just nodded.

"Do you think you're up for it, Harry?" Arthur Weasley asked, his voice suddenly filled with genuine fatherly concern that made him feel whole.

"Yeah. Just want to get it over with."

"If Professor Snape is amenable we can proceed. We were sent ahead to secure a room for the interview, with your permission of course Draco?"

The Slytherin nodded. "The Withdrawing Chamber is probably best. It's got plenty of seating and little else at the moment. I can open its floo connection."

"We will need to check for traps, poisons, and dark objects, is that alright?" Arthur asked.

"You can burn the place down for all I care," Draco said. He was trying to hide it but Harry could tell he was slightly hurt by the implied mistrust.

""It's all just routine procedure for the Minister's security," Mr. Weasley assured him.

"Whatever you need to do."

"Er, will we find any traps, poisons, or dark objects?" Arthur asked hesitantly but in all seriousness.

To Harry's surprise, Draco laughed at the man's question, all signs of hurt erased from his face. "Traps and poisons, no. I'm pretty sure my dad got rid of his dark arts collection just before you raided our house that one time."

Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh. "Well I never said he was an idiot." He took Draco by the shoulder and his tone again turned fatherly. Was the man destined to be surrogate father to the entire world? "I can help you check the rest of the house afterwards if you like. At the very least you should know what you have here, if not get rid of it. I don't want you to get in trouble."

Draco, who was taken aback by the man's continued concern, stuttered for perhaps the first time in his life. "T-thank you, your help would be most appreciated. It is a big house."

"Wonderful. Now then, can you show us to the room?"

Draco nodded, but before leaving he handed the package he had been holding to Hermione. "This is for you," he said, an unmistakable nervous tone in his voice.

The witch opened the package carefully to reveal a stack of blank parchments of all different colors and sizes. Some looked quite stiff and some no more substantial than tissue paper.

"Next season's prototypes. I wanted to get your input."

Hermione's eyes lit up and she squealed.

"Office supplies. So that's what I was doing wrong; I got her roses," Ron said in mock exasperation, looking at his friend sniffing the paper.

"You did no such thing Ronald Weasley." Hermione's face was only cross for a moment, then returned to resemble one who had imbibed too much pepper-up potion.

Harry supposed this meant the two were back to being friends, if they could already joke about their failed relationship.

Malfoy showed the group to the room where the interview was to take place, but Harry begged off halfway there to make sure Severus was feeling up to giving his testimony as well.

He found him not in the lab but back in his bedroom, seated at an enormous desk making notes of some kind. The painting of Phineas Black was propped up in one corner, and Snape and him were deep in discussion when he arrived.

Black cleared his throat loudly when he noticed Harry. Severus turned. At first his traditional sour look of the bitter or slightly constipated was plastered on his face, but when he saw Harry it fell. He looked… lost, though a bit hopeful, like a castaway getting his first glimpse of a sail on the horizon.

"Severus," Harry said, then paused. "Well I suppose I ought to start calling you Headmaster since I'm going to be a student again soon."

"Though we should maintain professional titles to set an example for our students, you will also be my colleague, so you may call me whatever you like when we are alone together," Severus said, from his look surprising even himself. Harry grinned. It must have been a wicked one, because the man's next words were, "Within reason that is."

"What did my mum call you?"

"Sev," he said as if describing a particularly slimy bug.

"But you didn't like it."

"I did when she said it," he replied with his eyes averted, clearly speaking to a memory.

"The Minister is coming this afternoon to take my testimony."

"Ahh the Minister of Magic, Merlin help him restore that title to its former glory. Although I do approve of some of the measures he's taken already, such as giving everyone a right to trial and allowing people to submit memories into evidence as long as they are corroborated by a witness."

Harry had not heard that bit of news. How much easier it would have made his life if Sirius had a fair trial, or even Barty Crouch, Jr. He had always thought it was a bit barbaric the way they were sentenced to be Kissed by the court of public opinion. Even the muggles don't do that. "I didn't know Fudge had it in him; I guess you can teach an old cat new grammar."

"Don't you read the paper?" Severus asked. Harry shook his head. He had meant to, really. "Kingsley Shacklebolt is the new Minister."

Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. What he had thought would be a torture session of alternate coddling and interrogating would now probably be something more bearable if Kingsley was the one that was going to preside over it. "Oh I didn't know."

Behind him, Black snorted loudly. Harry shot him a scathing look.

"He wanted to take your testimony today as well. Are you feeling up to it?" Harry asked.

Snape stiffened and he could see the dread flash across his face. "I suppose I had just better get it over with."

"That's exactly what I said." Harry tried to comfort Severus with a hand on his shoulder. The moment he touched him, he could feel his shoulder relax underneath his hand, and then his eyes drifted closed. In truth, the contact was relaxing him just as much and he did not want it to end. "I'm sure we can still reschedule if you're not feeling up to it."

Snape's eyes popped open a moment later, looked up at him intently, and fell to the floor. "Will you be there?"

"If you want me to be."

Harry could barely make out the man's whispered reply. "Yes."

"Then I won't leave your side."

A curt nod was the only reply he received.

He stood there a moment, hand still on his shoulder, unwilling to move. Severus evidently felt the same way, as it was not until a few minutes later when the former Headmaster's portrait loudly cleared his throat again, that he blushed and pulled away from him.

"I'll let you know when Kingsley arrives," he said and left, immensely content with the knowledge that Severus wanted his support during his testimony.

He practically skipped down the hallway. He knew he was grinning like an idiot just as surely as he knew he could not stop grinning like an idiot if his life depended on it.

When he finally found the room where they would be giving their testimony Harry was only vaguely surprised to find Arthur Weasley sweeping the room with Draco in tow, showing the younger man how they checked to make sure each aspect was secure. Harry thought he should probably be paying attention as he did want to become and Auror someday, but he was far too busy grinning.

Draco took one look at him, gave him a knowing smirk, and returned his attention to Mr. Weasley.

The search only uncovered one suspicious object, and no one there, including Draco, had any idea what it was. "It's most like an obscure family heirloom," Draco said, pointing out the Malfoy crest. "That's probably why Dad didn't get rid of it."

They waved their wands over it a few more times but were neither able to extract information nor elicit a response from it. Arthur sighed. "It's probably harmless enough. Still, it's not a good idea to keep mysterious objects laying about your house not knowing what they are."

"Yeah, 'least he knows what all of his contraband does," one of the Aurors said, causing the other to laugh deeply and Arthur to glare at them both.

The redhead stood taller and spoke with a feigned air of dignity. "Purely for research purposes, of course. You may want to keep this in your Gringotts vault until we can figure out what it is. For now just put it somewhere else."

The blonde took the object out of the room, still fiddling with it as he went.

Once they were finished the two Aurors that had accompanied Arthur left, promising to inform the Minister that the location was secured. Harry was sent to obtain Severus, and the two walked in steadfast silence to meet their fates, then and forever more together.

* * *

The informal hearing was not as torturous as Severus had expected. The Minister had started by getting Harry's testimony on the circumstances leading up to him killing Lucius Malfoy. Draco, Hermione, and Weasley Junior were all present, though they only helped supply details that Harry did not recall and were not called on to give their own testimony.

Kingsley asked the questions himself in his baroque baritone voice that bordered on accusatory at times. At first Severus was offended by the way he worded some of his questions but quickly realized it was probably for the best. If the transcripts showed any sort of favoritism towards Harry on Shacklebolt's part someone would certainly cry foul.

After Harry spoke, the Minister give a formal announcement that the Ministry deemed the use of the killing curse justified and would not be pressing charges. Only then did Kingsley smile and shake Harry's hand, along with his friends.

When it was time for Severus to give his testimony the others discreetly stepped out while Harry stood firmly at his side, leaving only him, Arthur, the Minister, and a transcript clerk to hear his words.

To his relief and the man's credit, Arthur Weasley had compiled much of the back story of Severus' work as a spy for the Order, and he only needed to verify what he had done while it was read to him.

When it came time to explain why he had killed Albus, Shacklebolt requested a memory, "…from the beginning of the conversation to the end. Unedited and uncensored. We will view the memory here and then it will be authenticated by the Department of Mysteries. After that it will be returned to you and only a written record of what the memory contained will remain on file. You may of course elect to simply present testimony of what happened, but I feel this is the safest way to put the matter to rest."

Severus brooded, sparing a brief glance for Harry, who just nodded at him encouragingly. The Minister waved his hand at the transcript clerk, evidently indicating what he said next should be off the record, as she stopped typing.

"Please understand, Severus, it is not that we don't trust you, but I am not going to be Minister forever. Since we are not charging you, you could still be brought to trial in the future, so the more thorough this investigation is the better."

He sighed and nodded, and touched his wand to his temple to extract the memory while Kingsley made a gesture to the record keeper to start typing again.

They brought out a stone basin that was already filled with Stella Serum and he flicked his memory directly into it. The Minister, Arthur, and the record clerk all stuck out their fingers, ready to enter.

"We need you to come too, to testify that what we see is correct, for the record."

His heart pounded, wishing nothing more than to not see the old man's face again. He feared he would lose his vaunted control in only for a moment, and would be once again reduced to a heap of tears on the floor.

"Would you like me to come?" Harry whispered, too quietly for anyone but him to hear.

The touch of his breath sent tingles down his spine, and he was once again — if not filled, then at the least flanked, with contentment. "Yes."

They both approached the basin. Neither of the other men made any objection to Harry's obvious intention to join them, and as one they stuck their fingers into the quicksilver-like liquid.

Severus landed in Dumbledore's office, the familiar whirling and twirling gadgets and gizmos twittering away. Albus sat hunched in his chair, looking as pale and sallow as someone on death's doorstep ought to.

When he looked around he found Kingsley and Arthur creeping over to the old headmaster, looks of blatant shock on their faces. Fawkes sat keening on his perch, helpless to aid his beloved master. The esoteric bird's soft cries were soon accompanied by rapt clacking as the records clerk, who had somehow been ported in still hunched over in her chair with her typewriter, already began recording the details of the scene.

The door burst open loudly, and everyone in the room, including him, who had known what was coming, jumped with shock. Severus watched himself rush in, take one look at Albus, and begin muttering spells. He took a vial out of his coat and tipped it down the man's mouth. Dumbledore didn't stir. He began muttering more spells, becoming more and more desperate, and finally tipped an entire goblet full of golden potion down the old man's throat.

Albus woke up shortly thereafter. He attempted to watch the scene that unfolded then passively, though Arthur and Kingsley did no such thing. They ooh'd and ahh'd in all of the appropriated places, showed despair and disgust at the state of the old Headmaster's parched, blackened hand, and watched his every action with great interest.

For his part, Severus stood very still, and only had eyes for Albus. Seeing the man again in vivid color was threatening to wrench his heart. Though he heartily disagreed with some of the wizened man's decisions, he was the only one in Severus' life to treat him like a son. A right, proper son. Not a burden to be beat on and sent away at the earliest opportunity. It was ironic, almost. The damage he had incurred in the service of Dumbledore was far greater than anything his father could have done to him, and yet he would swear on Lily's grave that only one of them had ever loved him.

When it was over, Severus plopped down heavily on the sofa. This time Harry sat next to him, at least as close as he could without raising any eyebrows.

"Very well," Kingsley said while studying him closely. "Given the information presented here the 13th day of July 1998, with witnesses Arthur Weasley of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry James Potter of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and myself, Kingsley Lynx Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, I certify under penalty of flogging that in the interest of justice the Ministry of Magic will not bring charges against Severus Snape for the murder of—" Kingsley paused to consult a parchment, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on the 30th day of June 1997 due to extenuating circumstances as previously described."

The transcription clerk handed the Minister a piece of parchment with fresh glittering ink that had been transcribed as he wrote. It bore the official seal of the Ministry, and as soon as he'd signed it, Kingsley handed it around the room for everyone else's signatures.

"Well that was a mouthful," Harry said.

"We've still got to do one for assisted suicide," Shacklebolt said. "Given the information presented here today with witnesses…"

Severus tuned him out, too caught up in his own thoughts to listen anymore. When the piece of parchment was handed to him he signed it then passed it on to Harry.

Kingsley thanked them for their time and flooed back to his office in a glorious blaze of blue. He barely even registered the fact that Arthur did not follow him, but instead left through the room's side door, leaving Harry and him alone.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

Severus, not trusting his voice, didn't answer at first. When he did, he sounded just as weak and pathetic as he feared he would. "Why did I have to push her away? If only I never called her that awful name." He rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, futilely hoping to implode in on himself.

His companion moved to sit closer to him, placing one warm, comforting hand on his back and the other on his upper arm. The touch, as expected, made him feel comforted and strangely loved. It was such a foreign feeling to him he had had trouble identifying it at first, but now there was no mistaking it. The life force next to him enveloped him, and though pain was still present, it kept it far enough away that he could at least think through it.

"If I had only followed her guidance instead of those that only ever wanted things from me, but, no, I had to be stupid, and blind to their intentions."

"Were 'ifs' and 'buts' just nicks and cuts we'd sail on seas of blood, Severus."

As had happened frequently when he was speaking with Harry, his battered soul welcomed the words as healing truths. He tried to push them away, to reject the comfort — he didn't deserve it — but something inside him wouldn't let him.

He raised his tired gaze to Harry, who smiled sadly at him with the bright green eyes he missed so dearly. "I loved her _so much_." Severus' voice cracked on the last words, and much to his shame he had to snivel them out in between shaky breaths.

"I know you did," the younger man said simply before pulling him closer to cry on his shoulder.

It was amazing really. Now that he wasn't fighting it he could clearly identify the emotional dampeners sliding into place over his eggshell-fragile mind, just as clearly as he could identify it was not of his own doing. Whereas he tried to completely shut off the pain, usually just to have it return tenfold days or months or even years later, this was just taking the edge off to make it bearable. It was rather like a vial of mild herbal or a tumbler of Ogden's finest.

Some people were driven to drinking to deal with their problems. Severus was driven to Harry, and even as he wept into the proffered shoulder, it was not with the same desperate panic that usually overcame him. He was able to think, and as such his mind drifted back to the thought that had been plaguing him.

"You took fully twenty years off your life expectancy just to save my miserable life, and you don't even seem to be bothered by it," Severus said once he was able to speak again. He slowly became aware of the warm comfort of the embrace, and how one of Harry's hands was combing through his hair and the younger man's pointy chin was pressed almost painfully on the top of his head.

"That's not… you don't… I should have known you would take it like that," Harry managed finally. "I told you that because I was scared for your safety, not to make you feel guilty. And you don't know you shortened my life at all. I want to be an Auror; it's just as likely me that will shorten yours."

He sighed heavily but did not cease his comforting touches, now rubbing one temple with his thumb.

"If I had it all to do over again knowing what I know now I'd do it again in a heartbeat, and again tomorrow, and the next, and every day until the day I die if it meant keeping you alive."

"But why?"

"Please don't make me say it again. I don't think you're ready to hear it," was the only reply he received, and nothing more could he get on the subject for many months to come.


	20. Pillow Talk

Chapter 20 — Pillow Talk

* * *

"You don't need to do that," Severus spoke into the dark room. He had lain awake that night, waiting for Harry to come in to chaperon his apparently sleeping self.

The younger man jumped when he spoke, and his reply sounded mildly exasperated, if not a touch defensive. "You have nightmares."

"As I always have, and will continue to have, probably for the rest of my life."

"Well you will always have me, too, and you don't have them when I'm here."

He propped himself up slightly to look at Harry. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were scared of the dark."

"'There's nothing there in the dark that's not there in the light,'" he chanted as if repeating a mantra. Well he had slept in a dark cupboard the majority of his life.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course there is. Do you not know what a nocturnal animal is? Not to mention the assassins and spies that move only through the cloak of darkness. I should know; I was one of them!"

Harry sighed. "There's just… so much… thrashing. I didn't want you to set back your recovery."

Well there he had a point. Most of his aborted relationships had ended the first night he'd brought the poor unsuspecting witch to bed and she woke up with a black eye or bloody lip from him flailing about uncontrollably as the night terrors gripped his body.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the ache that was creeping up his spine and threatening to reach his head.

"I'll leave if you don't want me here," Harry offered, but one look at his sad dejected face caused a staggering influx of guilt.

Severus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood while extracting his wand from under his pillow in one swift motion. He quickly transfigured the enormous bed in the room into two smaller beds, and laid down in the one closest to the wall, turning on his side to stare at it.

Severus could feel Harry's uncertainty, but even with his back turned to him he knew the moment Harry decided to see if the offending piece of furniture might swallow him up. He slowly rose from the chair he had occupied. Severus heard the unmistakable rusting of sheets and characteristic groaning of springs as he settled into the bed.

"You tell anyone about this and you're fired," Severus said to the wall in what he thought had been a perfectly terrifying tone, but it just elicited a laugh from Harry.

"Of course."

Some minutes later when the younger man had stopped fidgeting and his breathing had evened out, Severus flopped onto his back. "Harry?" he whispered quietly into the night, unsure if he would be heard.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." The words, so seldom spoken by him, left his throat at a hushed croak, but evidently Harry had no problem hearing him.

"It's my pleasure, Severus."

* * *

"_Incendio!_" Hermione shouted, and a ball of flames erupted into being just feet from Harry's head. "Target practice," she said in response to his raised eyebrow.

"Do you have to practice so close to my face?"

"Why Harry I never pegged you for the vain type," the witch retorted.

"Nah. If he was vain he would have done something about that untidy mop of hair years ago," Ron said while pointing at Harry's head with one hand and turning the page of his book with another.

This elicited a sneer from Draco and the biting comment, "I expect it's just a study on chaos theory," which caused Hermione to giggle.

"At least my hair doesn't look like it's been petrified," Harry replied.

Draco just rolled his eyes and went back to studying. Ron and Harry quickly followed suit. No curses, no hexes, and no excessive displays of manliness: they just willingly went back to studying without her having to shout at them... even a little bit!

Hermione wanted to sing, or cry, or thank the minor deity that had given her friends some semblance of a worth ethic.

Perhaps, now that they were no longer being hunted, they realized the importance of an education to secure their future, and had finally fallen prey… er, listened to her perpetual harping and applied themselves to their studies.

No, no… had to be the deity.

Ron in particular was studying like a mad-man. He was determined to take and pass all of his NEWTs, stating he did not want to go through another year at Hogwarts.

At first she had been hurt, lamenting over the absence of one of her best friends during her final year. After studying with him she was beginning to think he had a shot at it, too. Not that _she_ would be taking all of the NEWT exams that year. She would not be happy unless she passed her exams with flying colors, whereas Ron would be happy to pass with sluggishly lurching colors, so she stuck to the subjects she was going to be examined on.

Harry had voiced similar sentiments, though she suspected he was at least as much hesitant to leave Hogwarts and join the real world as he was worried he would not perform exceptionally on his exams. She had a notion that if Harry got anything but an 'O' on his Potions NEWT, her friend would never again be able to look their former Potions Master in the eye.

As things stood, their NEWTs were two days away, and even Draco, who spent as much time at home as he did managing one crisis or another at one of his businesses, was studying furiously.

Exactly two hours later, a paper bird flew into the room and she again obliterated it in mid-air before it was even able to reach the table to peck out the time. One unexpected effect of the dissuasion spell was that she had developed really good aim.

She also found that she needed the reminders less and less. Andrell had told her that might happen, as repetition could be effective in overcoming memory loss. The dissuasion spell was not a memory loss charm per se, but the mechanisms were similar. In effect, she was slowly developing a resistance to it. As such she had changed the reminders to every two hours, but she still woke up every morning to a small pile of paper birds on the bedside table and spent most days with a small flock of them following her around.

She really needed to find the source of that spell.

Unfortunately, as the exams grew closer she had less and less time for research and assisting Snape and Andrell with their potions. She was even forced to abandon her search for the latter's former lover and was still uncertain how to broach the subject with the man.

Castor had picked up the search where she left it but had not gotten much further. He and Luna had become attached at the hip, and though he wanted to go to Australia to continue looking for his sister, Xenophilius Lovegood was vehemently against the idea. The American refused to go without her, so instead they explored England, periodically popping in to tell fanciful stories of their exploits. Luna was just as attached to Castor as he was to her, and they appeard to have grown equally attached to Luna's miniature dragon. When they came to visit, Crookshanks would invariable seek out Blue to play. Only once had Crookshanks' fur been lit on fire, and all things considered her ginger cat had taken it extremely well. On occasion Ginny accompanied them so she even got to see her younger Gryffindor friend as well.

And so it was that for the weeks of their voluntary incarceration she lived vicariously through the exploits of Luna, Castor, and Ginny while mediating the nominally friendly disagreements between Ron, Harry, and Draco.

Harry and Draco at least were on board with her plans to lessen the gaps between houses in an attempt to alleviate the discrimination and hatred that had proliferated throughout wizarding England and left it vulnerable to being overrun by a tyrant.

Ron was less than enthused with her new mission, never having himself been a discriminator, nor one discriminated against. Even as a blood traitor he had enjoyed the protection and privilege of being a pureblood most of his life. He was, however, remaining civil to Draco and seemed content with exacting revenge for the Slytherin's former antics in ways they would both eventually laugh off.

Whenever things got too tense she would suggest they go down to the cellar to practice dueling; it had come to the point when a "break from studying" meant "studying something else." She refused to let them raise their wands in the library in the interest of the continued existence of the extensive book collection she had come to cherish so she had suggested the use of the cellar.

Though their jesting had ended amicably enough this time, she herself was feeling quite antsy, and so she called a DADA practical break.

"Tornado drill!" she called out, which prompted herself and her companions to drop books, quills, and parchments and race each other down to the cellar door.

"I win!" she heard Harry shout as she padded down the corridor in dead last. She always lost the race, but seeing her three friends tear out of their seats and claw their way through the Manor at her suggestion was a win in her book.

"Did not! I touched it first!" Ron complained.

"In your dreams. Oi, Malfoy, this door have a flesh memory by chance?"

Without giving Draco a chance to answer, she pushed through them and opened the door. The hollow echoing of the door opening always sent chills down her spine, as did the memories of this place that still accosted her the moment she entered. Each time it got easier, but she knew she would never be able to look at this room without thinking about being tortured by Bellatrix.

However, the room had the wide open space they needed and little to destroy should a curse go astray and was therefore the logical choice for their practice sessions. Besides, it was a good to face her fears.

"I'm going to see if Snape will join us," Harry said, still slightly out of breath, while the others took off robes and jumpers and dumped them unceremoniously on the lone forgotten training dummy in the corner.

Hermione put her hair up and rolled up her sleeves. There were still egregious markings on her arm, but the scarring had lessened significantly over the week that Snape had been treating her scar. At the end of the treatment the man's dark eyes had fixed on her, filled with remorse. "This is what it will look like for the rest of your life."

She had nodded her understanding. Nothing short of cutting a swatch out of her skin out and sewing in a new patch would make it look any better. Even that would probably cause some scaring where old met new. "'It is easier to fly to the moon than to reconstruct a broken egg,'" she quoted to the man then, who scrunched up his face and tilted his head to the side.

"I'll have to take your word for it."

And so fate had decided — via a deranged witch and overzealous use of Dittany — that she should bear the wounds of battle. She could either get used to people seeing it or use magic to cover it up whenever her arms were exposed, which she refused to do but on the rarest of occasions.

It had been Harry that had given her strength: Harry, who bore the most famous scar in existence, and who had eventually come to terms with having Umbridge's message permanently on his hand, though Snape was able to significantly reduce the scarring on his hand.

Narcissa Malfoy had just been released from St. Mungo's. Though she had voiced no objections to Draco's out of character company, and in fact the young Malfoy patriarch had made it clear that if they went so did he, the witch still avoided her, and, on the rare occasions they passed each other in the hall or accidentally took a meal together she had practically radiated her discomfort.

Hermione had snuck out past a snoring Draco for a cup of tea to help her sleep. She despised feeling unwanted, and her heart ached for Harry and the family that never loved him.

The shiny sterility and order of the vast Manor kitchen was in sharp contrast to the ceaseless litany running through her head. She sat on a stainless steel counter top, her legs dangling over the side as she sipped slowly from a cup.

"Can't sleep either?" Harry's unmistakable voice came from the shadows, as if summoned by her thought, causing her to jump slightly and dribble tea all over her favorite pajamas. They were light blue with clouds, and her mother had given them to her while she still remembered she had a daughter.

She grabbed a towel and began dabbing at the spill. "No. What's your excuse?"

"Bad dream, you?" he answered casually as he rummaged through a nearby cupboard.

"Drake's snoring sounds like a herd of elephants coming through the wall."

Her friend erupted into laughter and emerged from the pantry with a short stack of crackers that he quickly began nibbling at. "Are you sure that's all?" he said, looking meaningfully at her exposed arm. She hastily sat down her tea and began tugging down her sleeves; it had become second nature by now.

Harry fixed his cracker-free hand onto one of hers and spoken with such passion she still found strength in the memory of his words. "Don't you dare let them make you feel ashamed. If you can't get rid of your scar wear it with pride, as a reminder of the day they tried and failed to break you. You are a hero, Hermione, born to muggles and trained as a witch. If they want to call you a mudblood, then be proud to bear the name. They only have power over your mind if you give it to them."

Coming from someone who had an innate ability to resist the imperious curse, she thought his words were perhaps a touch naively optimistic, but, after all, Harry's mother was muggle born. Harry himself was a half-blood, and half-bloods were not truly accepted amongst the pureblood elites — merely _tolerated_.

And yet a half-blood wizard, raised practically as a muggle in abject poverty, had not only been admitted to Slytherin house but had grown up to become head of it. Severus Snape had not let his blood status shame him. In fact he seemed proud of it: dubbed himself "The Half-Blood Prince." All of the hateful things his peers said about him, be it for his upbringing or blood status, only seemed to make him stronger, prouder... if slightly repressed and bitter.

"You're right. I guess I just need a reminder every now and then," she said with a smile, and followed his bewitching emerald eyes out of the kitchen.

She had slept fine then, and most nights thereafter. His words echoing in her mind and her friend's own omnipresent scar, along with the stiff and silent dignity with which the half-blood prince conducted himself, served to galvanize her resolve whenever it wavered.

For his part, Snape was cordial to her, gladly answering her questions and accepting help with his brew, especially when it proved to be trickier to finish off than he had originally thought. She had come into the lab one day to find him frowning at the four remaining cauldrons. One of them appeared to have boiled over, one of them had exploded, the next had turned rock hard, and the last had just vanished. She shrieked at the sight before her, but was surprised by her Professor's calm reply: "It happens."

Why was he not so accepting when his student's potions went awry?

"I have no patience for people that cannot follow simple time-tested instructions. Experimental potions, however, require a great deal of patience, and catastrophic failure is to be expected," was his perfectly logical answer to her unvoiced question.

Bollocks, she had forgotten he could read minds.

Andrell had accurately predicted that Snape and Narcissa Malfoy might aid each other in their recoveries. His physical wounds had mostly healed, and she had frequently seen them keeping council by the fireside, deeply entrenched in quiet conversation.

It had not been until recently, however, that Snape did not tire quite so easily and could stay awake almost the entire day. His healer had equated it to watching a house being built; at first there is a flurry of activity as everything on the outside is built up, but afterwards seemingly nothing is happening when in reality everything on the inside is being fixed up: plumbing set up, carpet installed, window treatments… Snape had not much appreciated his insides being compared to curtains, but she suspected he realized the non-technical explanation was more for the benefit of Harry, who, in his ceaseless vigil, was present for the healer's visit, and let it go without comment.

The healer had cleared Snape for light-to-moderate activity, and so at her request the man periodically joined them in their dueling sessions, correcting form and sharing insight only years of experience could beget. Hermione was thrilled, and growing exponentially more wary of how much her precious books left out. Her peers seemed to appreciate his help as well, and so they kept asking after the Potions Master to join them during their DADA practical breaks.

"He'll be here in a bit," Harry said when he returned a few minutes later, again panting and out of breath.

Ron and Draco were already enthusiastically throwing hexes at each other. From the periodic yelps and successive glares, she guessed they were a bit harsher than was strictly necessary.

"Guess it's you and me kid," Harry said before facing off against her.

"Do you mind if I practice my shield charm? I'm not quite sure it's strong enough."

Harry rolled his eyes but sensibly made no objection. "_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Protego!"_ she shouted at the same time. An invisible force erupted from her wand, easily deflecting the spell.

"Is that the only spell you know, Potter?"

Hermione looked up in time to see Snape striding confidently through the door.

"No, at least one or two other," Harry replied amicably.

"Just because the Dark Lord is gone doesn't mean you should let yourself be predictable," the older man admonished. "We all still have enemies."

"Alright, Moody," Draco snorted from the far wall, leaving a window of opportunity for Ron to hit him with a stinging hex. The blonde yelped, and the redhead whooped, but his celebration was caught short as he dodged a shower of arrows Draco sent towards him while still clutching his side.

"He's right, Harry. DADA isn't just for fun, especially if you want to be an Auror," Hermione said.

"Well of course you would agree with him," Harry complained.

Snape turned towards her, a strange look on his face. "And as for you, Miss Granger, you probably mastered shield charms on the way in on the Hogwarts Express first year. You are preparing for your NEWTs — _Nastily_ _Exhausting_ Wizard Tests, not _Nice_ and _Easy_ Wizard Tests. If you do not challenge yourself you will never progress, and if you do not progress you will grow weak and vulnerable. If you desire to practice shields you will duel us both."

Despite her best efforts she knew her gulp was audible throughout the room, but she steeled her face and nodded her acquiescence, bringing her wand to the ready.

"Er, I take it you don't want me to use _Expelliarmus_?" Harry asked meekly.

Severus glared at him. "Any spell that does not present a substantial threat will defeat the purpose of the exercise. Cast _Sectum Sempra_."

"Shit just got real," Ron muttered under his breath, the pair to the side having stopped to watch the newest goings on.

Harry's eyes widened, "But—"

"In the unlikely event you actually get a hit on Miss Granger I will of course heal her wounds before eating my left shoe. Are we ready?"

"But—"

Harry sent her a pleading look.

She had to admit she was flattered by Snape's confidence, but couldn't help but wonder what brought about his abruptly militant persona. She nodded while looking at Harry, and the thrill of the adrenaline that suddenly coursed through her body made her skin tingle.

Well this was far more interesting.

"_Sectum Sempra!"_

"_Locomortor Corpus!"_

The first spell was expected, and aimed at her. The second spell, however, was aimed over her shoulder.

"_Protego!"_ She easily absorbing Harry's spell into her shield by allowing it to eat away at a few layers, so it would not ricochet off and injure anyone else, before spinning around to see that Snape's spell had brought the training dummy to life. It sprung up like a marionette, scattering the garments that head been resting on it around the room. She barely got a shield up in time to block its flailing metal limbs that suddenly seemed hell-bent on getting ahold of her.

The eerie metal scraping noises were somehow amplified through her shield, and as the thing wailed wildly on the invisible barrier it sounded like an army of really old robots marched feet in front of her. When her shield expired, she was forced to jump out of the way, as a hasty _Finite Incantatem_ did not release the creature from its bonds.

She landed painfully on her hip. Since she did not know the counter-curse to the spell Snape had used, she was forced to destroy the dummy, repelling it far away from the occupants of the room before exploding it in a blaze of glory.

She looked up at Snape, whose face had gone unreadable again. "That was the Inferius curse, wasn't it?" she said with shock, taking in the smoking remains of the amorphous metal scraps.

"Very good. Now if you'll excuse me, I appear to have over-exerted myself," he said before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his trademark billowing black robes fluttering behind him.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Ron asked.

Hermione glanced around the room. Everyone looked about as confused as Ron sounded. "I'm going to find out," she said.

By the time she caught up to him, he was already in the sanctuary of his room, but his door was still slightly ajar, and she could see he was still fully clothed, perched on the edge of his bed.

"Professor?"

"I'm not your professor anymore." His mellow voice was laced with regret.

"Headmaster?"

He just snorted.

"May I come in?"

"He left the door open for you, didn't he?" the crass voice of Phineas Black rudely shouted from inside the room. "Honestly, man, and you say she's brilliant."

"Shove off Black!" Snape erupted as Hermione inched her way in the room. The former Headmaster continued berating the current Headmaster even as he walked out of his painting.

Hermione was unsure of what to say, so she took a seat at the nearby desk, intently studying the ornate frame of the recently vacated painting. Black was right; Snape obviously wanted to talk to someone. Well, she was someone. Now if only she knew how to start.

"There was another attack," he said quietly without turning towards her.

"How bad?"

"They were targeting me," he took a deep breath. "They destroyed my h-home. When that wasn't enough they took to the streets of Cokeworth. They're just muggles; they didn't stand a chance." He stood then and walked over to gaze out the window.

"Was anyone you know…" she trailed off, leaving the question incomplete, but he bowed his head when next he spoke.

"There was a muggle woman: my neighbor. She used to watch me when I was too young to be left alone," he said, still staring at the ground. "She was kind to me."

"I'm so sorry," she said, gripping her seat to prevent herself from going to him. Despite the fact they seemed to have and appreciable work relationship going, she did not think he would be receptive to her smothering him with hugs.

"Just another in a short line of women who actually cared for me and were rewarded with premature deaths."

_Well that's a bit dramatic_ she thought to herself, but immediately something clicked in her mind. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. As unlikely as it sounds I've grown accustomed to your incessant perfectionism," he said. "Like breathing out and breathing in."

"And now you think something is going to happen to me."

He nodded in response and then froze, like a frightened child expecting to be struck or, in this case, abandoned. Her heart ached for him, and if he honestly thought she was going to stop working with him because a few people wanted to murder him in cold blood and might try to get to him through her he obviously didn't know her very well.

"Well then we'd best be ready," she said, and was rewarded with a half-smile: one side of his face scrunching up just slightly. _One day, Severus. One day I will get you to smile._ "You better be careful; if the wind changes your face will freeze like that."

He turned to face her for the first time since she entered the room. "Now that is just ridiculous."

She laughed at the blatant indignation written on his features. "What about Narcissa?"

"She will be safe in the Manor and unlike some people I know has the good sense to _stay put_."

"And what of the men that care for you? Aren't you worried about them?"

"Oh you mean Albus? Didn't you hear? He took a nose dive off the astronomy tower under the most curious of circumstances."

"You know I'm talking about Harry."

"Call me a misogynist if you must, but when I was growing up it was considered chivalrous to try to protect women; now it's chauvinistic."

"Oh? And do you miss Camelot much?" she teased. "I suppose you do have a point. Magic is supposed to be the great gender equalizer, and yet we still evolved into a patriarchal society."

"Or devolved. And we still go around brandishing our phallic symbols at each other."

"Severus," she chided with a grin, "Sometimes a wand is just a wand."

"I suppose Freud might agree with you."

"Would it be better if we went around pointing divining rods at each other? It's just not as efficient a method of directing magic. Furthermore, it would require two hands. We might need the other one to… to…"

"Yes?"

"Do stuff."

"Oh I see. If you're quite through talking yourself into a corner I have some other news."

"Yes, thank you."

Snape returned to sitting on the bed, his face showing how tired the day's activities had made him. "Due to the recent events the Minister wants to go ahead with the plan to try and call forth Death Eaters through the Dark Mark."

"When?

"After your NEWTs," he replied, then much quieter, "Don't tell Harry yet; he's worried too much already."

"And I'm not?" she snorted.

"I have no doubt you can handle it."

What a curious man. He was worried someone would come after and overcome her, but he was not worried about Harry's safety. Now he was protecting Harry from worry, but was fully confident in her ability to handle the emotional duress. "As you wish."

Her eyes followed him as he got up to pace the length of the room.

"I was having vapors the other day when I heard a rumor that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes survived, until I realized we were the ones that started that rumor," she said, mostly to break the silence in the room. Severus just nodded. "It may not even work," she pointed out. He shrugged his shoulders. "You think it will, don't you?"

He finally stopped pacing and looked at her appraisingly for a moment before moving closer to the desk. Black wool and white linen were tugged up his left arm to reveal his Dark Mark. "What do you see?"

Hermione refrained from stating the obvious, staring at the inky blackness while her brain worked. The design of Snape's Mark was exactly like Draco's, and his father's. All three men had fair skin, and from what she could tell the hues in each were originally the same, though she had only inspected Lucius' when it had already faded to red. Wait a minute. "It's not red." Her eyes narrowed in confusion as he nodded. "It faded to red when Voldemort died the first time. How long did it take?"

"I can't recall exactly, but a few weeks at most. It's been over three months."

"Perhaps because he used them more, they are not fading as quickly?"

"I don't know. As it so happens you are currently the world's foremost leading expert on the Dark Mark, so if you don't know either we may have a problem. There's also the rumors."

"You mean the rumors _we started_?"

"We started rumors that there were three and one survived. There have been rumors of four, five, six, seven, and more, and of objects holding them, too close to the truth for comfort. That's the problem with starting a rumor. You may not recognize it when it gets back to you, and if you do it might be masking an underlying truth that surfaced as the information spread."

Hermione sighed. She had really counted on Voldemort sticking to his original plan of making seven horcruxes; everyone had. What if they had missed something? "What should we do?" she asked with a heavy heart.

"We wait, and watch, and hope we can at the very least catch someone that knows more than we do."

* * *

Severus lay in the dark staring at the ceiling as sleep continued to elude him.

He lit his wand tip to check the time and in doing so caught a glimpse of the second bed in the room that was currently empty; its normal occupant was likely still in the library studying instead of asleep in the bed next to him like he should be.

It had been a necessary concession at first, inviting Harry to stay in the same room with him. When Severus had not transfigured the two beds back into one the next night, Harry came back. The next night was the same, and the next, until it had become so ingrained in his pattern he could not fall asleep without him.

His presence was admittedly calming — if only because it meant he wouldn't be waking up to himself banging his fists against the wall or trying to fly through the window, but what Severus was currently missing were the few minutes before he fell asleep when Harry would engage him in conversation. They were not particularly long conversations. Their content was sometimes downright banal. But no matter what they talked about, at the end he always felt like he'd worked through his day's anxieties and could put his mind to rest.

Today's news had been the worst yet. Hence, it was nearly two in the morning and he was lying awake and alone.

Severus pondered sending Harry a patronus, but the image of his doe barking at Harry to come to bed and the scandalized looks he pictured would result on Draco, Hermione, and Ron's faces made him think twice.

He was just about to get up and find something to occupy his mind when he heard the door creak open. There was the tiniest sliver of light as Harry tiptoed in the room then shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. His efforts were quickly negated by him running into the food of Severus' bed with a loud grunt and colorful swear.

Snape cast a silent _Lumos Maxima_ to find Harry standing in the middle of the room, arms out in front of him moving about like feelers, and a satisfactory look of surprise on his face. "Do try not to injure yourself getting into bed. What would your fan club say?"

"That humans can't see in the dark? What are you doing awake?" he said as he made his was safely into the bed closer to the desk.

"You make it sound like I'm awake on purpose," the older man replied after he extinguished his wand and lay back in bed.

"Do you mean to say it's possible to be awake on accident?"

Severus luxuriated in a deep eye roll that would go unseen, and therefore unoffending, in the dark.

"I'm sorry; were you having nightmares?" he asked more seriously.

"They are night terrors, and for your information I hadn't fallen asleep yet," Severus replied.

"I guess… I don't really know what the difference is."

Snape rolled onto his side to get comfortable, while he thought of how to explain. "It's the thrashing that gives it away."

He heard the boy moving about in his bed. When he spoke next his voice sounded as if his head was pointed towards him. "What does it mean?"

"It's one of the telltale signs. If you had tried to awaken me when you found me in such a state you probably would have found me inconsolable and, probably, still asleep."

There was a pregnant silence following his statement, which he took to mean that Harry had indeed tried to wake him, and had probably gotten hit in the head a few times for his efforts.

"Those are the two main symptomatic differences between night terrors and nightmares. Analytically, the difference is that night terrors do not occur during the same sleep cycle as nightmares, though you'd have to run extensive tests to see that aspect of it."

"Hmm. I guess I had always assumed they were the same thing," Harry spoke with introspection. "Do you remember them?"

"Most of the time no. If I wake myself up during one I will likely remember some scene or image... and the fear."

"They're quite terrifying, then? I mean I'd gathered with the name and all…"

A shiver ran down his spine. "Most days I'd rather take a private meeting with Voldemort. At least that way I'd know why I was scared; I was in the same room as a murderous raving lunatic. With this you're scared of _nothing_. And you know you're scared of nothing. And you know you shouldn't be scared of nothing, because nothing is quite harmless. And yet you cannot stop being scared of nothing. The fear — it _stays_ with you."

"Wow. I'm going to have nightmares about having night terrors now. Thanks a lot."

"You will do no such thing," he said with finality and closed his eyes.

His thoughts began to drift, and just as they became pleasantly befuddled Harry spoke again, jolting him out of his almost sleep. "I'm sorry to hear about your house."

"It shan't be missed."

"But I thought… in your dream…" Harry trailed off.

Exactly how many times had Harry seen that dream while they were still constantly in eachother's minds? "It's funny, really, how long I had nightmares about losing that hovel; never about losing my life, or Lily's, or losing my freedom… never about anything important… until now."

There was something about talking like this, in the safety of dark. It felt surreal, almost like he was drunk and the next day he would be wondering why he had spoken as he did. He felt more able to speak freely, and so when Harry hesitantly asked him, "What do you dream about losing now?" he answered truthfully.

"You."

* * *

Two days later Hermione found herself nervously reciting spells when Draco strode self-assuredly into the library. "Bit of last minute studying?" he inquired.

She didn't even look up from her book, just gave him a jerky nod.

"If you don't know it by now you don't know it." He sat on the edge of the table and moved as if to close the book in front of her. Wisely, he chose to keep all of his fingers and aborted his move at the last moment, pulling his hand away with a groan. "Where are the others?"

As they all had the DADA NEWT first thing this morning, Ron and Harry had agreed to leave with them from the library — Ron flooing in from the Burrow and Harry emerging from wherever he pretended to sleep when he wasn't watching over Snape. Hermione glanced at her watch; it was nearly time to leave. "They should be here any minute."

Draco slid off the desk and stood behind her, massaging her shoulders with strong hands and probing fingers. She had not realized how much tension she carried, but that point was being acutely driven home as the blonde forced it to abate. He bent down to wrap his arms around her, whispering softly in her ear, "You know you're going to be brilliant, right?"

She turned to impart a smile on him, but any reply was cut short by the arrival of Harry. "Get a room!" he said the moment he stepped into the library.

"This is a room," Draco replied as he stood up stiffly.

"I meant your own room."

"This is my house. I should think that ownership is inclusive of all rooms."

Harry just shook his head. "Where's Ron?"

"On your six," the redhead replied from the doorway, causing Harry to spin around.

"Oh you're there," Harry said with mocking interest, earning himself a scathing look from Ron.

"Everyone ready, then?" Hermione said, quickly gathering up her things.

The four met in the center of the room, and she held out her hand. Ron, Harry, and Draco each reached out to grab hold of some bit of her, and she apparated them all to Hogsmeade. They appeared with a loud crack on the pathway up to the castle, just outside the anti-apparation boundaries.

The group walked solemnly towards Hogwarts, the imminent exam suddenly making them all silent. The imposing castle gates stood wide open, but for once they did not seem welcoming to her. There were only a handful of students out on the grounds; by the looks of them they were OWL students. The only seventh year she spotted was hastily making his way into the castle.

She rummaged in her bag, doing one last check of her inventory: spare parchment, ink well, back-up ink well, her lucky quill, her back-up lucky quill. She put one hand up her sleeve and found comfort as her hands wrapped around the familiar feel of her wand.

She was ready; she _could_ do this. She just had to remember not to stop breathing.

Hermione considered writing herself a few reminders to keep breathing, but she decided it might distract the other students to have paper birds flitting about. She had not set her next _Dilectio_ reminder until after the exam was out, and she supposed she would just have to rely on mother nature to keep her imbibed with oxygen.

The doors to the great hall opened loudly to reveal row after row of students seated in desks, grim expressions on their faces. A Ravenclaw girl she barely recognized caught sight of them, and then whispered to her neighbor. In a heartbeat, the entire room was filled with whispers, and everyone was unashamedly ogling them.

It confused her at first to have them so abuzz. Even Harry, who had spent most of the last three months with Snape, had been wandering about and talking with his fellow students after the final battle. All it took was a whispered name — "_Malfoy" — _ to clue her in: it was not the presence of the Golden Trio that had elicited such a response, but the presence of the three of them in the company of their former mudblood-hating enemy.

She sighed. They really had their work cut out for them.

Draco stepped up to her and left a warm kiss on her cheek with an audible, "Good luck," before going to sit with the Slytherins. The volume in the hall increased tenfold at his display as her fellow students did not even bother trying to hide their shock.

A deafening roar erupted from Professor McGonagall, who stood at the front of the room with her wand to her throat. "SILENCE!" The room fell quiet once again as everyone faced forward, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione were able to take their seats with minimal scrutiny.

As the small clock at the front of the room ticked nearer the start time, the hall fell completely still and many students watched it as if it were Death himself coming to take them away. There was a loud clang, and as the massive Hogwarts clock blanketed the grounds with the time, their tests spontaneously appeared on the desk in front of them.

Hermione flew through the four hour test in an hour and a half, and spent the rest of the time checking, rechecking, editing, and nitpicking her answers.

It was with considerable relief and nostalgic grief that she put her quill down when the Ministry official declared that time was up and waited a few seconds before causing the papers in front of them to vanish. They were dismissed to a two hour lunch that they were advised to take in Hogsmeade, as the Great Hall was already being set up for the practical portion of the DADA NEWT.

She gathered her stuff and looked up in time to see Draco jogging across the hall to her. "I was going to go catch lunch with Blaise and Pansy. Alright if I meet up with you after?" he asked, looking down at her affectionately.

Her muscles had tensed automatically at the mention of Pansy Parkinson's name, but she forced herself to relax. They were Draco's friends; of course he should take the time catch up with them. She had monopolized him the entire summer, after all, and… someone had just asked her a question. What was it again? "Oh, yes of course."

"Figures. First day back and he's already ditching you," Ron said under his breath.

"If that were so I'd technically be ditching all of you," the Slytherin pointed out with a particular glare aimed at Ron, "but Blaise and Pansy are probably not returning next year and I thought it would be good to feel them out. See just how much work I've got ahead of me if we're actually going to succeed in making our houses get along."

Hermione smiled triumphantly at Ron and elbowed him in the ribs for added effect. "That is a wonderful idea, Drake. We'll be at the Hog's Head," she stated bossily.

"Meet you there in an hour," he said before bestowing another chaste kiss on her cheek.

She was blushing furiously as Harry and Ron encouraged her in the direction of the door.

"Have to get permission from your mudblood to have lunch with your friends? That's awfully low, Draco," she heard Blaise Zabini, who was making no effort to lower his voice, complain to the blonde as she was leaving.

"Don't call her that," Draco said with a hint of anger in his voice.

"Fine. Have to get permission from your sanguemarcio to have lunch with your friends?"

"That's just 'mudblood' in Italian, idiota," she heard her friend reply before she reached the hallway.

They really, really had their work cut out for them.

When they reached the grounds she was pleasantly surprised to see Thestral-drawn carriages waiting to take them into town. Hermione distracted herself from fretting over Draco by fretting over her answers to the exam, yammering on and on about everything that was on the test, and everything that was _not_ on the test, and speculating that anything left out of the written portion might show up in the practical. Harry and Ron nodded and smiled all the way to Hogsmeade.

When they reached the Hog's Head they were greeted heartily by Aberforth Dumbledore, who was faithfully tending the bar. At the moment his only patron appeared to be one of his own goats, who had somehow taken residence on a barstool and was sitting up like a dog.

"Hello Mr. Dumbledore."

"Oh please, the name's Aberforth, and your money's no good here," he said, raising a hand up as she pulled out her coin purse. "You lot fancy a butterbeer? Or perhaps something a bit stronger to help your exams along, eh?"

"Butterbeer would be wonderful," Harry said as he sat on a bar stool. Ron and Hermione took the flanking seats.

Hermione glanced uncertainly towards the end of the bar. Aberforth's goat looked at her appraisingly then bleated in her general direction. She smiled nervously and stammered out a hello.

Merlin's Beard she was talking to a goat.

"Now! What do you fancy to grub on? They say fish are the best brain food."

"I'll take the fish-n-chips then," Harry said with aplomb. She and Ron ordered the same. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure the Hog's Head actually served any other food.

Ron, who had pulled his out his deluminator and was flicking it open and closed like a Zippo, immediately entrenched Harry in a conversation about Quidditch finals. Luckily it was daylight so the waning and waxing of light in the dusty bar was minimal. At night Ron's nervous habit could get really annoying.

Hermione tried to keep up with their conversation, but quickly lost interest. The witch glanced again to the end of the bar, where the goat still sat patiently and looked at her with unnerving intelligence. Aberforth's return came as a relief.

"It'll be out in a minute," the old man said as he refilled her butterbeer. "Left you his deluminator, I see. And here all I got was his ruddy woolen sock collection," he complained to Ron, though his eyes still had the Dumbledore twinkle in them. "Had to hire a bloody wee-Haul just to pick it up."

Harry burst out laughing. "He was quite fond of his wool socks," her friend acknowledged.

"Well I suppose I only have Ariana to blame for that. Normal people build pillow forts when they're kids. She and Albus built sock forts, though mum probably cared more about her couch cushions staying unblemished than her own children having a bit of fun. Oh listen to me carrying on like a bitter old man. I'll just go and fetch your fry-ups."

She watched his crimped white hair disappear into the back once again.

"He wasn't lying to me," Harry said.

Hermione turned to look at him. The smile he was wearing had turned into a look of awe. "What do you mean, Harry?" she asked.

"Dumbledore wasn't lying to me. When I asked him what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, he said he saw himself holding a pair of woolen socks. He could have been, if he was playing with Ariana in the image of his family that he saw."

Harry nodded to himself. As interesting as she found the information, she didn't understand why it was causing her friend to look so… haunted. Then again, Dumbledore had that effect on people, even in life.

"Order's up!" Aberforth announced before setting a plate down in front of each of them.

Ron descended upon his food like a lion on its prey. Harry, at least, knew how to eat in a civilized manner, and she found herself enthusiastically joining him. She had not realized how hungry she was.

As they heartily enjoyed their meal a few more patrons trickled in, many of them students from their year. They all greeted the three of them before wandering off to a booth in groups. After an hour Draco arrived as promised, sidling up next to her and leaning on the bar. "Miss me baby doll?"

The loan goat at the end of the bar bleated loudly at Draco.

"Yeah like an impacted tooth," Harry said.

Ron snorted into his drink.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Draco replied. "These two louts bothering you? Care for some civilized conversation, then?"

Harry and Ron both erupted into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just ironic, you see, 'cause you're you and we're us, and…" Ron rambled until she interrupted him.

"Assuming you can hold a conversation about something other than Quidditch I would simply adore your company," she said.

Draco leaned down to whisper in her ear. "What's with the goat?"

She just shook her head and shrugged her bewilderment. "Aberforth really likes goats," she said quietly.

"That's not creepy at all," he replied, and then louder so the others could hear: "Let's get a table before they're all gone."

The four of them crowded into a wooden booth, the hollow steps under their seats echoing dully as they clambered in. They continued to garner looks from their classmates as they sat and talked: some curious, some confused, and some downright disgusted. "How did it go with Blaise and Pansy?" Hermione asked.

"Well, they didn't ignore me for simply talking to you lot so that's a start." Draco's voice sounded lighthearted, but his stormy grey eyes, fixed on an invisible spot past the wall, told another story.

"What is it?"

"I think they're a lost cause, and are likely to only become more so."

She put her hand on his while he continued to stare at nothing. "Don't give up on them. They're your friends."

"And if you and I—" he blurted out while slamming his free hand on the table. The silverware clattered its discord, and he looked nervously between Ron and Harry as if just becoming aware of their presence. "Nevermind."

Her friends were looking excitedly between the two of them like they were expecting to see a train wreck at any moment. "Even if _they_ are hopeless, there are still the younger students."

"But like you said they are my friends. If they won't listen to me anymore why would anyone else?"

"I'm listening!" Ron said, looking as if a teacher had just said something absurd to see if the class was still paying attention.

"Come on let's get back. We'll have a bit of time to warm up," she said, sliding out of the bench.

They said their goodbyes to Aberforth Dumbledore, promising to visit once school started up again, and made their way back to the castle. The DADA practical went by quickly, and before she knew it they were traipsing away from the castle to reach the anti-apparation boundary.

The rest of their exams were spread out over the course of the next week, and the time practically flew by. By the end of it they were all exhausted and relieved, and yet anxious to receive their marks. They were due in on Sunday, as the testing board was rushing out their results so that classes could be organized for the next year.

As it turned out, they had only one restful night of sleep before their services were requested at the Ministry. Had she known that, she might have crawled into the bed she had usurped from Draco sooner, instead of whiling the night away conspiring with her slippery Slytherin in excited sedition.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I am by no means an expert on the subject, but I tried to present accurate information on night terrors/sleep terrors. I have only experienced one in living memory, and I was frighted (of nothing) for a full week afterwards.


	21. Making the Grade

Chapter 21 — Making the Grade

* * *

Severus hobbled around his room trying earnestly not to wake the sleeping Seeker. After standing under a hot shower until his fingers began to prune, he stepped out and dressed in his blackest and most severely fashioned teaching robes. He wasn't due at Hogwarts until Monday, after the OWL and NEWT results were in, but he was trying to get back into the mindset.

Once he was all dressed he exited the bathroom in a blanket of steam to find Harry still sound asleep. The light peaking in through the heavy curtains put the younger man's face in sharp relief, the pooling shadows making him look much older. His sleeping form looked peaceful and kind, even more in contrast to his father's taunting, cruel features.

He had to admit that any resemblance between the father and son's personalities was more a projection of his own hatred onto the unassuming boy than anything else. Just five minutes in the boy's mind showed him how horribly he had been treated at the Dursley's hand. Instead of growing smug and arrogant like his father or spiteful and bitter like himself, Harry had turned out kind and loving.

The prickly voice of Phineas Black abruptly interrupted his thoughts. "See here, young man! Stop making doe eyes and get to work!"

"Shhh!" he hissed at Black while striding towards his desk. He put the painting face down, causing cries of muted indignation from the unseen canvas. It was still too loud. He'd have to get Black out of there.

"Sev'rus?" came a sleepy inquiry from the occupied bed. "'S morning?" Harry sat up and rubbed his painfully emerald eyes before stretching his arms to the sides.

"Yes but you can go back to bed. I was just on my way to the lab," he said quietly, causing a new wave of heavily dampened pleas from Black.

"S'ok. Not sleepy," he said while scratching the back of his head with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other.

"Oh yes. You're simply a fount of energy."

The younger man ignored him, swinging his legs off the bed and stumbling to the bathroom while continuing to emit full-body yawns. Severus sighed dramatically for Black's benefit before drawing the curtains with a swish of his wand and righting the portrait on his desk.

"Are you quite happy with yourself now?" the former headmaster said, arms crossed across his chest and foot tapping repetitively outside the painting.

"Ecstatic."

"Wonderful. Now, the first order of business—"

Black's words were cut off by the fireplace behind him coming to life. Severus turned in his seat to see the head of Arthur Weasley smiling pleasantly in ringlets of orange flames.

"Arthur," he said in greeting.

"Severus, er, is this a bad time?" the man said genially at first but grew uncertain as the painting continued to spew forth its ire.

"Not at all. Just ignore Phineas. They didn't think to paint him with his morning tea."

"Oh dear. Well, we wanted to give the summoning a go this evening but could really use your input in planning if you're available?"

"He most certainly—" Black began.

"SILENCE!" Severus shouted at the painting and offered its occupant his best death glare, which was returned, but Black eventually walked out of the frame.

"I most certainly am. What time will you need me?"

"Wonderful! You can floo directly to the Minister's office from the Manor at half ten," Arthur said as the flames began to fade. "Oh and have you seen Harry? I can't find him, and we'll obviously need him too."

"Yes he's… he'll be there," the dark-haired man replied as Arthur's head flickered out of existence. He was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that the boy had already woken and that he didn't have to explain Harry's slumbering presence to Arthur Weasley.

A moment later the bathroom door cracked open to reveal a half-dressed but far more alert sentient Harry who had his wand drawn. "Is everything alright? I heard shouting."

"Hrm you must be hearing things. That was just Arthur Weasley requesting our presence at the Ministry. They want to try activating the Mark this evening."

Harry's face, which had returned to normal after a shower, went from genuine concern to enthusiastic glee in a heartbeat. "Great! When do we leave?"

"As soon as you put some pants on," he drawled, addressing Harry's boxer-clad lower half.

"Oh, right!" he said, before disappearing back into the bathroom.

Even better he didn't have to explain _that_ to Arthur Weasley.

* * *

Harry suppressed a yawn as the Auror in charge of the mission droned on and on about defensive formations and arrest protocols. He'd had a decent sleep last night, but it seemed the months of late night study sessions were finally catching up with him.

From the looks of them, Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy were not faring much better. Even Severus looked like he was staving off sleep, but that may have been more from the Auror's monotone dialogue and the fact that Severus could probably beat any of them in a duel on a bad day.

The man's voice fell blissfully silent for a moment as he distributed a short stack of pictures to everyone in the room. Right on top was the dark snarling face of Durus Goyle — Gregory Goyle's father. Harry spared a gland for Malfoy who had gone pale and swallowed heavily, but quickly flipped to the next picture.

"Unfortunately coming to the call of the Dark Mark is not in-and-of itself a crime, so we won't be able to just arrest anyone that shows up. There are plenty that might claim they were just trying to gain information. Thanks to the Minister's _new_ _laws_ we can't even detain them for questioning. If they willingly stay to offer up information that's an entirely different story."

Snape snorted, earning himself a scathing glare from the Auror… Edwards, Harry thought was his name. There were twenty-two Aurors present, all of whom has been enthusiastic to meet Harry and offer him their tutelage. Unfortunately twenty-two names were also offered, and he had found himself hard pressed to match all of those names to twenty-two faces.

"Something you care to add, _Snape_?" the man possibly called Edwards asked.

"I just find it unlikely that any Death Eater, former or otherwise, would wait around to give up information when they could be fleeing towards freedom."

Very-Likely-Edwards leaned on the table with both hands, staring down Snape intensely. "You're here aren't you?"

Severus just opened his arms widely and nodded his head in concession before continuing to leaf through the papers in front of him. Harry followed suit.

"What you have in front of you is all of the people we _can _arrest, or at least have enough evidence to detain them for questioning. This is the culminated work of the entire Auror department, so memorize these faces."

"Hang on a second," Harry said as he came to a familiar pock-marked face smiling up at him. "This is Stan Shunpike. I know him; he's no more a Death Eater than I am."

"Flip it over," a woman sitting across the table said. _White_, Harry thought, _her name is Emily White_… _or was it Emily Brown… why can't they wear name badges like the Muggle police?_

Harry flipped the card over to find Stan's name and other biographical information, followed by a long list of attacks and other atrocities he had allegedly been involved in.

"This isn't possible," he said after skimming down the list.

"We have eye witnesses," the woman said, pointing at the paper to indicate he should keep reading.

"If he did this he was under the Imperius curse," he replied a tad defensively, a chill running down his spine at the description of a rather gruesome rape-homicide that had occurred in the Dells.

The Auror just shrugged. "All the more reason to bring him in. His family hasn't seen him in over a year. If he is under the Imperius curse he needs to be removed from the control of whoever cursed him or he remains a danger to himself and others. We _can_ break it, and believe me I will find out the truth," she said with a steel in her eyes that was only eclipsed by the icy conviction in her voice.

Harry flinched but nodded, moving on to the next picture.

No less than half were faces he recognized, having been splayed on the pages of the Daily Prophet before Voldemort controlled the Ministry. A handful of the others had surnames he recognized as belonging to students he had gone to school with, though he was relieved to see none of the Most Wanted were people he actually _had_ gone to school with.

"Now," Edwards spoke up, "We'll be going to a field just a few miles from St. Mungo's. There isn't much for us to take cover behind, but there won't be much opportunity for them to either. And we'll have the benefit of surprise. Of the pictures you're looking at only a handful are suspected to still be in England. If we get lucky ten people might come to the call. That leaves at least two of us for each of them."

"How are we going to see who they are? Even if we do put up an anti-apparation boundary the moment they zone in they'll probably be wearing masks. Do we just start hexing everyone?"

"First, there is already an anti-disapparation boundary around the entire area, but they will still be able to apparate into it. Second, a simple stunning spell should suffice to be able to remove their masks. If they are not on the list you'll have to let them go unless of course they attack us." Edwards had a wicked grin on his face.

"The masks are elemental not material," Severus spoke evenly in his deep baritone and immediately had the attention of everyone in the room. "Stunning is superfluous and indeed you would not be able to remove them by hand if you tried. _Coalesce_," he said clearly while waving his hand across his face.

He was immediately shrouded by a blackness that perfectly covered his face. Harry had never had a chance to look closely at the Death Eater's masks. Seeing one up close was eerie; it looked like it was composed of flowing metallic dust that turned black gold if viewed at just the right angle.

"Anyone care to try?" he said with amusement, and Harry swore he could hear a distinct eyebrow quirk in his voice, though obviously he could not see anything.

Nobody moved. They just stared at him: some with awe, some with horror, and some with blatant mistrust. Emily White, he was pretty sure it was White, looked disgusted.

Hesitantly Harry reached a hand out to the man sitting next to him and touched the blackness coving his face. His fingers sailed right through it like a cold cloud and vaguely reminded him of touching a ghost. There were satisfactory murmurs throughout the room.

"Luckily it is removed with an easy spell. _Evanesce._ Potter would you do the honors?" Severus asked, looking at his young companion.

Harry gulped but pulled out his wand, "_Evanesce_," he breathed quietly into the dead silence of the room. Immediately the mask began to melt away and had dissolved completely in a matter of seconds. He was relieved to see he hand't inadvertently taken off the man's skin or other important facial features with his spell.

"Wicked," he heard Ron say under his breath.

"Well then perfect," Edwards said and everyone's attention returned to him. "Assuming someone does come we will use the _Evanesce_ spell immediately and detain those who are wanted for questioning."

"And what exactly are we doing about getting people to actually answer this _summons_," Auror White asked doubtfully. Though her tone was not unkind she was quickly getting on his nerves. Perhaps it was just the protectiveness he felt for Severus.

"For that I turn the floor over to Mr. Potter. Would you care to tell us exactly what happened in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry balked as every eye in the room turned towards him. Even White looked more interested than condescending.

"Okay," he began, "Well, uh, it happened in my second year at Hogwarts…" Harry explained and began the tale starting from the attacks on muggle-borns and how he found out he was a Parselmouth. "I thought Professor Snape's eyes were going to pop out of his head just then, the way he was looking at me." This earned him a rumble of chuckles across the room and a severe glare from Severus.

The more his audience engaged the more he put into his story telling, feeling a strange satisfaction from the gasps and grins he drew out of them. He'd never been one to gloat about his antics, but he found telling about his adventure amongst his friends to this small group of Aurors was curiously enjoyable.

When he told everyone how they made Lockhart jump down the hole first everyone was in stitches, and he couldn't help but laugh along with them.

The entire room grew absolutely still when Harry started to talk about Tom Riddle emerging from the diary. He tried to relay as much information as he could, from the boy's cadence and mannerisms to the way he wrote his name in the air in harsh, jagged orange letters.

"And then he called the Basilisk with a particular phrase. It was hidden behind a statue of a face, and when the monster came it slithered out of the face's mouth. The Dark Mark appears to be fashioned after what was in that Chamber, and Riddle had a near obsession with connecting things to his past. The Horcruxes—"

Harry stopped short when he noticed several of the faces looking at him change to shock. He'd forgotten most people didn't know for sure there were more than one of them. He looked at Arthur Weasley for guidance, who, as Head of the Department of Magical law Enforcement, was sitting in on the meeting and would accompany them to the field. The ginger haired man just nodded for him to go ahead.

"Right, well, the objects he used to create his Horcruxes were connected to his past: a diary from his childhood, a family ring, a locket that belonged to the founder of his house at Hogwarts…"

"So there really were three of them?" an Auror at the end of the table asked.

Harry floundered once again, unsure of how much he should reveal to the group. Arthur Weasley, who just shrugged in response to his quizzical look, was no help. "It's… complicated. Anyway, I think that given Voldemort's tendency for nostalgia it's very likely he make the same phrase the activation key."

"What is it?" Auror White asked impatiently from her seat across from him.

"It's a spell that sort of serves as a password to call the Death Eaters through the Dark Mark," he answered, purposefully misunderstanding her question.

"I mean what is the phrase," she snapped with irritation.

He found it strangely easy to picture the Auror as a giant snake._ "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four," _he hissed at her in Parseltongue.

"I meant in _English!_"

Harry stared her down for a moment before replying. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He wasn't sure if she knew she had been lied to, nor did he much care. The woman was getting on his nerves.

"Right!" Edwards said and stood up again to continue the meeting. Several people appeared to break from a spell that had had them transfixed on him the moment he started speaking in Parseltongue and jotted down something in their notes. "As per our previous agreement with them, Mr. Potter will attempt to activate Professor Snape's Dark Mark and Mr. Malfoy has offered his services to confirm that the message went through. Mr. Potter has requested the assistance of Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley—" he indicated Hermione and Ron, "for logistical support in case he is unsuccessful on the first attempt."

More intense note taking accompanied the man's speech.

"And I want to make one thing absolutely clear," he said, leaning forward on the table again and looking at Harry and his group of friends. "Though I understand some of you wish to join the Auror Corps, the five of you are still civilians and will therefore not take part in any battles that may ensue unless _absolutely_ _necessary_."

Harry would have stood up to object, had Severus, who was sitting directly to his right, not squeezed his thigh at that moment, and he quickly realized that "the five of you" would include Snape as well. He looked at the man sitting next to him, who had not released his death grip on his leg, who just gave him a mildly amused look before returning his attention to the front of the room.

"As you wish," Harry said calmly. Severus released him, and he found himself lamenting the loss of physical contact.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking amongst themselves while trying to memorize faces and terrain maps. He was pleasantly surprised to smell Chinese takeaway that showed up around dinnertime. One of the senior Aurors asked Harry to finish his story of the Chamber of Secrets, which he did, with great finesse once the attention of the room returned to him. He drew out the scene of him being chased through the pipes quite extensively, getting up and making Draco stand in for the snake. That earned him an eye roll from the blonde and several hearty guffaws around the table.

When he got to the part where he stabbed the snake through its mouth one person gave him a slow clap, and when he told them how he destroyed the Diary with the Basilisk fang while poisoned with the snake's venom the older man who had asked him to continue his story sputtered. "But you were twelve!"

"Just because you would have pissed your diaper at that age…" Edwards snorted.

"At least, unlike you, I'm not still!" the man countered, and the Aurors, save White, erupted into laughter. The five civilians sat looking at each other vaguely uncomfortably until someone shushed the group so Harry could finish the story.

Severus seemed to notice him flourishing under the attention and called him on it once his tale had been spun and the others went back to their studies. "Well, well, well it appears the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Tell-The-Tale is not so averse to the spot light after all."

"It's not… they're not… don't be such an ass!" he replied quietly though no one seemed to take notice of their conversation among the many taking place.

"Have I struck a nerve?"

"It's different, Severus! They're not gawking children. I need to earn these Auror's respect if I'm going to become one of them. Part of… being successful at your job and working your way up is the ability to tell these little anecdotes and amuse the masses. It endears you to people. You ought to try it sometime."

"If you hadn't noticed I appear to have worked my way up just fine, thank you, despite the fact I wasn't trying and was in fact actively trying to flee at the time. And when did you get so ambitious?"

" .not. _ambitious_! I just don't want to be no one. I've got a lot of expectations to live up to," Harry said frowning while an ache started to form in his temples.

They listened to the general hum around the room as the last rays of twilight bid them farewell through the room's single window. Harry fumed while Severus was thinking. Finally the older man turned to him. "You are not and will never be no one, Harry, even if you tried."

Any reply was cut off by Edwards calling the room back to order. "We'll be heading out in ten. Any last minute questions?" The room was silent. "Good. Alert your support staff back here at the Ministry. See you on the field. Merlin be with you."

"Merlin be with you," the room replied as a whole before papers were shuffled into stacks and chairs were pushed back with squeaks.

Harry and his companions elected to travel together, accompanied by Arthur Weasley. The man had not said much to them during the task force meeting, except to take Draco to the side for a private conversation.

They were led to a small room they could apparate out of, which they did in pairs. Severus held out his hand to Harry which he took without hesitation and squeezed harder than was strictly necessary.

They were some of the first to arrive, the others meandering about and taking in their surroundings. The field was exactly described: wide open with not a tree in sight. It was about twice as wide as it was long and surrounded by heavy tall grasses that had grown wildly around it. The field, Arthur Weasley explained, was where a mass casualty intake could be set up for St. Mungo's should the occasion call for it and suited their purposes perfectly.

The air was still warm and moisture still clung to it as evidence of the recently departed daylight as the Aurors assembled at one end of the field. He shivered. It reminded him too much of the clearing in which he'd been forced to take down Lucius Malfoy.

The last few Aurors appeared, their apparation cracks nearly silent, probably out of habit more than paranoia. Kingsley joined them as well, and Harry noted the man appeared to have aged ten years in the last ten weeks.

"Harry, Professor Snape," he greeted them and extended his hand. When he shook it the man leaned down to whisper in his ear, "I have it on good authority that you passed all of your NEWTS, congratulations."

Harry flushed. "Thank you, Minister," he said with a genuine smile. Well at least he wouldn't have to worry about that until tomorrow.

Shacklebolt winked at him and moved on to greet Hermione and Ron, apparently to deliver similar news to them as Hermione squealed and Ron received a hug from his father shortly thereafter.

"Alright is everyone ready?" Edwards said with a curious nod to the Minister, seeming to have just noticed his appearance.

The Auror came over to Harry and Snape. "Whenever you're ready," he said as Malfoy dropped back to join them.

Severus turned his back on the group so he was facing only Harry and unbuttoned his left sleeve. Even without their strange mental connection he could feel discomfort dripping off of him like sheets of rain. He had come to understand that a person's Dark Mark, especially if said person was no longer a Death Eater, was a very personal thing. And with Snape everything was very personal.

The man stopped squirming when he had revealed the black design etched into his pale skin, a smattering of scars and freckles in the area making it truly his own.

Harry removed his wand from up his sleeve, but not before reaching out his fingers to trace them softly over Severus' Mark. His forearm felt burning hot, though it was more likely that Harry's fingers were icy cold, and surprisingly soft to the touch. He drew his fingers over every square inch, marveling at the intricacies in the design that were lost to the casual observer.

When he looked up at the man's face he expected to see anger at Harry's audacity to be touching him when he knew the older man wouldn't make a scene. Instead he saw sadness, and broken promises, and shattered dreams. His heart cried for the man, but the sadness seemed to have replaced any uneasiness he felt with Harry.

Small favors.

"Okay?" he whispered.

Snape just nodded.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four," _he said, though given the timing of the hiss that issued from Malfoy's mouth, only the first four words had been necessary. "It work?" he asked the blonde whose face had grimaced in pain and was clutching his arm to his chest.

"What do you think?" he replied.

Well perhaps the question had been a bit redundant.

At that moment there was a satisfactory _pop-pop-pop_ that answered his question unequivocally. Three black clad figures in masks stood in the field just in front of the line of Aurors. _"Evanesce,_" he heard several people shout at the same time to reveal the faces of three men he recognized from the stack of photos.

Well that was lucky.

They were stunned and sent by portkey to a Ministry holding cell before they could do anything but look absolutely shocked.

A second later there was another crack, then another, and another. The de-masking spell was used liberally, though it appeared after just a few times using it the Aurors could already cast it silently, as black dust simply dissolved to reveal more flummoxed faces.

Eventually the Aurors had their hands full as the cracks of apparation continued to ring in the open field, and the incoming Death Eaters had just a moment to take in the scene before facing the dissolution that would reveal their face. Some of them were familiar from their photos, some were not. Everyone that had a moment to prepare started to attack the Aurors and the warm summer night air soon crackled with magical energy as hex after hex was volleyed and returned.

The space about him continued to pop as more and more masked figures in black appeared on the field. He saw an Auror fall to the ground not far from him. It seemed to happen in slow motion: a bright light — thankfully not green — shot across the night and found its mark, sending the person falling back slowly to the earth.

Harry looked down to see his wand was already drawn and he sprinted for the fallen Auror. He only made it a few steps, however, as a heavy mass collided against his left side, taking him down to the ground. As he fell he saw light — this time a sickening green color — shoot over him, right in the space he had recently vacated. He turned to see a head of white blond hair and its owner picking himself up off the ground. Malfoy held his hand out and hauled him up.

"Thanks for that," Harry said and bent over to pick up Draco's wand — the Elder Wand, technically _his_ wand, which would have been nice to have right about now, but it was too late for that — and handed it back to him.

"Don't mention it," the Slytherin replied and bounded off.

At the thought, Harry looked around for his Slytherin and became frantic when he couldn't immediately spot him. He felt the cold dread of panic twist his stomach, but told himself to keep moving. Besides, if he was alive Severus had to be too.

He crossed the distance to the fallen Auror. The long wavy brown hair revealed the figure to be a woman, and turning her onto her back revealed her to be Emily White and in a full body bind.

"_Finite Incantatum!"_

White's body reanimated and she looked at him with confusion for a moment before he helped her up to her feet. "Thank you," she said with awe, as if she had expected him to just leave her there.

"Don't mention it," he said and she immediately raced out to join ranks with her fellow Aurors.

Harry followed her path of travel until his eye was caught by a familiar feathering of black hair. He jogged over to where Snape was fighting alongside Arthur and the Minister. The group had formed a rough semi-circle at the end of the field they were at. Ron, Hermione, and Draco were further down the line sending stunning spells with every breath.

And still they came.

The opposition grew with every _pop_ that rent the night and one thing suddenly became very clear: they were outnumbered.

Harry did not hear the spell in the swelling noise and sweltering heat, but he saw it. That familiar ichorous green raced through the open space in front of the group, eliciting a feminine scream and a dull thud as it hit its target and Edwards fell backwards, his eyes already looking at the great beyond.

The night erupted into utter chaos.

With the loss of their leader the Aurors broke their ranks. Arthur Weasley hastily shoved a shoe into the hand of a furiously protesting Kingsley Shacklebolt stating firmly, "We need you alive, Minister," before activating the portkey.

He heard the desperation of a hasty Patronus charm before a silvery streak shot out across the bleakness, and Harry could only hope the Aurors were sending for backup.

"Defensive formation Firewine!" Arthur Weasley's voice bellowed out suddenly, and the Aurors, seemingly relieved they were no longer leaderless, immediately complied.

Harry knew Firewine. They had gone over it only hours before in the meeting. It was a complex moving formation meant to draw out a hopeless situation for as long as possible. Exactly like the situation they were in. The Aurors paired up and each of the pair took turns alternately firing spells and shielding, ducking and dodging around each other in a dance known only to the players, while the group as a whole also moved in apparently random bursts that were unpredictable.

Harry _knew_ Firewine. They had all studied it. But even looking at the parchment had made his head hurt at the time and they had not thought it necessary for the "civilians" to practice. He could not have pulled it off if his life depended on it.

The five of them, determined to at least not hold the group back, stayed behind them, getting off spells when it was safe and trying to keep up with their erratic movement.

The stalling tactic appeared to be working. That is, until someone was not fast enough with diverting their shield and their partner fell. The man looked helpless as he stared down at the fallen body. Harry did not have time to see who had fallen, or even if they were dead before Arthur bellowed, "We hold this line!" and inserted himself into the fallen man's place, causing everyone that had paused to take note of their fallen comrade to move again.

In front of them the field continued to fill as hundred of black bodies were now swarming about. It was perhaps their only advantage that the field was longer on one side than the other, and so only so many Death Eaters could be trying to kill them at once.

Harry heard it first. A crack behind him he thought might be a rogue spell breaking a tree branch. But that couldn't be right; there were no trees here. He whirled around to see a dark figure whose eyes grew wide as it took in the scene in front of him. Harry risked taking the time to dispel the person's mask which revealed the twisted face of none other than Durus Goyle.

Goyle seemed immediately drawn to the shock of white blonde hair that was ducking and weaving a few feet from him. The man's eyes turned murderous as shock and betrayal distorted his face. His wand was raised in an instant, and Harry moved without thinking, flinging himself at Draco while sending a binding spell at the man.

Two thuds, as first Harry and Draco, and then Goyle hit the dirt. "If we keep meeting like this people are going to talk," Malfoy said with amusement playing in his eyes as they were face to face.

Harry didn't have time to reply. The once spacious field had evidently reached some hitherto unspecified critical mass and instead of appearing in front of them, the pull of apparation began to deposit the unsuspecting Death Eaters behind and to the sides of them. He pushed off the ground as he rolled off the thankfully still living, breathing — if a big cheeky — body underneath him, changing his momentum so he landed in a crouch.

Luckily their antics had attracted the attention of Snape, Ron, and Hermione, who turned as one and began firing off spells. Arthur spared a glance for them, but the amount of people on their side was few compared to what the Aurors were dealing with, so he let Snape direct the younger fighters to defend against the new threat.

Harry had never considered himself smart: that was Hermione's job. He could, however, work out all by himself that they would not last long if they had to fight a battle with a circular front. Luckily, not a minute later, droves of witches and wizards in Auror's robes came crashing through the overgrown grasses that surrounded the field. They came from all sides, effective surrounding the group of Death Eaters that was beginning to surround them.

"Spread out!" Arthur said and the Aurors on their side began working their way out, sending the Death Eaters they had managed to stun away with port keys when they reached them. The redhead took one look at the group of them. Harry was worried he was going to tell them to leave for a moment, but seemed to know better than that. "Stick together you lot," he said simply, and with a meaningful glance towards Snape went off to rejoin his partner.

Reflecting back on the unexpected battle later, Harry thought that he, Ron, and Hermione might have gotten the most dangerous assignment of them all, as once a new arrival got a glimpse at Snape _or_ Draco their eyes glazed over with rage and they appeared to lose their grip on sanity.

Insane people were not fun to duel.

As the Aurors suffused and the lines of the Light met as they squeezed the mass of Death Eaters into submission, many began to turn tail and run. And so it became a chase, with curses and counter curses still lighting the air, as they tried to reach the edge of the anti-disapparation boundary.

Harry and his group stayed at the field, easily picking off the last stragglers that apparated late to the party. They were lucky it wasn't really Voldemort they were arriving to; he probably would have severed nonessential body parts for their tardiness.

The Aurors that had given chase slowly returned to the field, some of them had one or more immobilized bodies floating behind them. _"Portus,"_ a man said next to him, tucking what looked like a small swatch of cloth into the hand of a petrified Death Eater. He disappeared a moment later.

"Where are we sending them?" Snape asked while pulling an empty vial out of his cloak.

"Holding cell D," the Auror replied. Harry recognized him as the older man that had asked after Harry's tale during the meeting. "Any help here would be divine," he said, looking a bit overwhelmed as he surveyed the field that was still littered with aspiring prisoners.

Harry walked over to the nearest black-clad body and gingerly plucked a blade of grass.

"Best not use something living. Might disintegrate before the bastard gets there… not that it would be a great tragedy," the Auror said.

"Here," Snape said and put half a dozen corks in his hand.

Harry thought _holding cell D, Ministry of Magic _with all his might before pointing his wand at the cork and murmuring, "_Portus."_ The black cork glowed blue and he quickly shoved it in the breast pocket of the man on the ground, who promptly disappeared.

The next person he came to was Goyle. His face had frozen in a demonic snarl when he was petrified, and Harry noted to himself that the man was aptly named. He held up his wand to another cork, but before he cast the Portus charm a streak of white caught his eye.

Making its way through the fallen bodies was a fluffy white animal. It was too big to be a fox, but looked awfully dainty for a dog. The animal's bushy tail was curled up and swaying back and forth as it trotted along. The long fur on the backs of its legs and the distinctly feminine prance in its gait led Harry to conclude that _it_ was a _she_.

She wove her way amongst the fallen masses on the ground, pausing briefly to sniff at each. Save for her nose which had a few light brown spots like freckles on the top, the dog was stark white and he could see she was well taking care of by the luster of her coat when she stopped right in front of him giving Goyle a sniff. She looked at Harry quizzically before going to sniff another nearby body and placing a wet sloppy kisses on the fallen man's face.

Harry moved over to her, and might have stopped her had she not stopped her sniffing then and let out a heartbreaking whimper before nudging her master's head with her nose. He looked to see the face of a man he didn't recognize and the unmistakable lines and curls of the Dark Mark peeking out from under his sleeve. Upon further inspection he noticed with a shiver that the man was not petrified but instead had the soulless empty eyes of the dead.

When she received no response the animal continued to yelp and whine, with a look of confused innocence only a child or dog could produce, before finally letting out a bark and nosing all along his body even harder.

"It's okay, girl. He's not dead he's just, er… moved on," Harry said helpfully while getting on his knees next to the dog. He held out his hand, which she sniffed distractedly and let him pet her. Her fur was so soft, especially her ears, and she proved to enjoy having them scratched, but continued to look at him with puzzlement.

After a few minutes of being petted, she went back to attempting to rouse the man. She put her front paws on his chest and started clawing him vigorously, though not hard, and resumed her anguished crying. There were even white tufts of fur in between each of her frantically moving toes.

The dog let out another bark and gave the nonresponsive body another lick on the face, followed by a look that clearly said, "Why aren't you awake Dad? I don't understand."

How could someone like the Death Eater win the affection of such a sweat creature? Had he been under the imperius curse like Shunpike? Or hoping to get out of Voldemort's clutches like Snape? But then why was he here laying dead on this field?

"Shh, it's okay," Harry repeated determined not to let the tears that had formed in his eyes fall. "You can come home with me." But when he reached his hand out to her again she jerked away and hopped bunny style into the night.

"_Portus_" he whispered at a cork and put it in the man's hand as it turned blue, whisking the man away to the morgue.

A moment later Harry heard an agonized howl coming from the tall grasses she had disappeared into, and the tears finally fell. A strong hand wordlessly grasped his shoulder, and it only took a glance at the potions-stained fingers to surmise the identity of the person behind him.

Harry hesitated just a moment before turning his face into the warm and inviting shoulder of Severus Snape. The older man wrapped his arms around him slowly, and Harry imagined being embraced with the same care and precision he used in crafting a particularly tricky brew.

Whatever calming effect Harry had on Severus' night terrors, it appeared it worked both ways, as his brain began to once again order his thoughts and his heart didn't feel quite so much like it would fall out. He was still sad, yes, but not overwhelmingly so. Seeing the dog had left him with a sense of bitter unfairness and of course reminded him of Sirius.

Severus was wisely silent on the matter, simply allowing Harry to weep out his demons onto the former's silky black robes. The younger man returned his embrace, and for a few glorious minutes they were blissfully unaware of the confused stares of the Aurors, and the devilish grins plastered on the faces of Draco and Hermione.


	22. The Heroes, Three Times Three

Chapter 22 — The Heroes, Three Times Three

* * *

"Where the devil is Emily? She hasn't checked in yet," the new head Auror, Dag Halmar, shouted frantically at the bustling room whose occupants paused to consult each other before muttering noncommittal noises and going back to hurried conversations and ruffled paperwork.

Once all of the Death Eaters had been removed from the field, the group had returned to the conference room. Hermione had been kind enough to magically expand it so that the task force, which had quadrupled in size, could all work together. This saved untold amounts of time and paper on the little airplane memos the Ministry was so fond of.

Even then, they were still in written correspondence with a smaller team of Aurors that was processing the prisoners via holding cells A through H. They had captured about eighty prisoners in total, though hundreds more escaped. The team was abuzz with speculations on where they had all come from, as many were not in any records the Ministry had and were refusing to talk. The ones that did all managed to enunciate the word "lawyer" in one accent or another before going silent again. This lead them to conclude that most of them were probably foreign born. The new laws the Minister had enacted ruled out the use of Veritaserum at the moment, as the Auror team was scrambling to even find enough legal council to defend the prisoners.

Harry and Ron had been invited to stay for what Halmar had described as "90% of the job" which turned out to be paperwork. After expanding the office and staying to help heal the cuts and burns of the Aurors that were not injured enough to stop working (which was the vast majority of them) Hermione had gone off to St. Mungo's to see if she could help Andrell, and both Slytherins had elected to go with her.

After midnight, when the pair was yawning uncontrollably, Arthur Weasley sent them home, giving both fatherly hugs before putting them in the lift cage himself.

Ron returned to the Burrow, but Harry elected to return to the Manor… and Severus.

When he arrived the older man was already asleep. His transfigured bed was waiting for him, and he had apparently received turn-down service. Instead of crawling right into the inviting-looking blankets he headed to the other bed to check on Severus, sweeping his eyes over the slumbering lump to ensure, again, that he was okay.

It wasn't like in the stories. Harry could pinpoint exactly the moment he had fallen in love with the man: on the battlefield when the group first scattered and he couldn't find him right away. The abject panic and impending threat of death had forced his hand, so to say. More accurately it had violently shoved his heart down a path he only now realized it had already been taking.

He was so royally screwed.

As if it wasn't bad enough that the man had been his teacher, or that the man had been in love with his mother, or that any feelings towards each other would forevermore be simultaneously tainted and amplified by the soul bond they shared. What had him trembling with emotion in the dark, non-judgmental night was the fact that Harry knew with every fiber of his being that nothing short of an act of God would make Severus allow himself to be loved by anyone.

Harry studied the man carefully in the dim light. The normally taught features relaxed marginally as he slept causing him to look nearly approachable. His black hair was feathered and light, no longer greasy with the residue from living and breathing a potions classroom all day.

He wanted to speak the words aloud — _I love you_ — as he feared he would never be able to. _No witnesses, just this once, and I'll never do it again, _but just as he opened his mouth the apparently sleeping man mumbled, "Take a picture they can't hex you."

The Gryffindor jumped back with a start. "You were meant to be asleep!" he said defensively.

"And that gives you an excuse to stare at me?" Severus said with a smirk playing on his lips.

"You… you were faking it! That's entrapment!"

The older man opened his eyes now, one wider than the other, causing a lop-sided glare that was more comical than threatening. "Oh yes and in the case of The People versus Harry Potter on the charge of Ogling in the first degree we find the defendant _should go to sleep_. I want to head to Hogwarts tomorrow instead of Monday, and I think you should come with to prepare for the term."

Harry sat down on his bed, breaking the warming charm that was on it, and took the chocolate piece off the pillow. "Oh, I… okay." There hadn't really been a question in there, so he wasn't sure if Snape expected an answer. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, or that the other half of his heart wasn't leaving the Manor and taking with it any reason to stay here.

He lay down in the warm bed, tucking himself in under the covers while he unwrapped the green foil from the small chocolate and popped it in his mouth. A feeling of contentment immediately washed over him.

"Why don't we just put huge amounts of chocolate in Cheering Drafts?" he asked suddenly.

Severus snorted. "Not everyone has the same… dramatic reaction you do, though it was once used to treat Hysteria in women."

Harry considered this. He was nowhere near hysterical… just in love a little bit.

"Tell me, Potter, do you make it a habit of eating food unseen people leave out for you? How do you know it wasn't poisoned?"

He considered this as he took another bite, the sweetness melding to the side of his teeth. "You wouldn't let me get poisoned."

"You sound so certain."

"Yes, I am."

The room was silent as the last vestiges of the confection melted in his mouth leaving behind a bittersweet aftertaste.

"Why did you give me the memories of you and my mum?" Harry asked.

Severus was silent, though his semi erratic breathing indicated he was both awake and trying to work out an answer.

"You didn't have to. I only needed the memory of Dumbledore telling you I was a Horcrux, and that Voldemort had to kill me to do what I had to do. Why did you show me the memory of Dumbledore asking you to kill him for that matter?"

There was a long pause after which Severus ceased his abortive answers and replied with quiet certainty, "I didn't want you to die hating me."

"But you were the one that was dying," he said. "Oh, you thought I was going to die too."

There was a soft rusting of fabric he assumed was the man's answering nod, for he gave no verbal reply.

"I know you promised my mother you would protect me. That… must have been really hard. I'm sorry you had to do that, Severus."

The man sat straight up in his bed. "You're _sorry_?! I send you marching to your death at the hands of a madman and _you're_ _sorry_?! I betrayed the _one_ person who ever really loved me and _you're sorry_?! You're… you… what is… _Gryffindors_!" he huffed, before laying back in bed and facing the wall.

Harry was worried. He didn't think he'd ever seen Snape incapable of sarcasm before, let alone reverting to one word exclamations. In the dark he thought he saw the man's outline shake, followed by what was definitely a sob.

"You should have let me die. _Why didn't you let me die?!"_

The older man's voice had fluctuated between angry, hurt, and hopeless in those two sentences before he began to sob in earnest. Harry wasted no time, throwing caution to the wind and his blankets off in the same heartbeat. He crossed the floor in two steps and climbed into the other bed.

Severus was shaking with his anguish and every muscle in his body screamed its tension when Harry put a comforting arm around him from behind, just as the man had done for him hours before at the end of the battle. His other hand raked his soft black hair and Snape seemed to cling to the hand spread out on his chest like his life was dependent on it.

"Because my mother wasn't the only one that ever really loved you," Harry whispered calmly and bestowed a kiss just below Severus' ear.

Once he was spent on tears, both men fell asleep, hoping wistfully to never have to wake up and leave what felt like serenity.

* * *

Severus was so royally screwed.

He woke Sunday morning to the sun shining, blue birds chirping, and his companion's morning wood pressed firmly into his back.

After several failed attempts he successfully detached the younger man's vice-like grip and got out of bed, carefully climbing over him in hopes he would not wake.

Harry groaned and rolled onto his back giving Snape the opportunity to study his face… again. He _did_ look more like his father with his eyes closed but still had a handsomeness that was all his own. It seemed every day he was reminded less and less of James Potter, although that may have been partly due to the fact he was spending more time with Harry and any idiot could see the boy cared for him.

"Take a picture they can sleep a lot," said the previously slumbering form in his bed.

Severus cleared his throat, "I apologize if I was a restless sleeping companion."

"Don't be daft. I haven't slept that well since I was eleven. What time is it?" Harry asked with a yawn before fumbling about for his glasses. Severus plucked them off the table and put them in his hands.

He consulted the clock on his desk, "Nearly midday."

"Merlin! I take it back, I've never slept that well," he said while squinting at the new rays of light coming in through the curtains Severus had just thrown open.

"Enjoy it while you can," he advised before disappearing into the bathroom.

He ran himself a piping hot shower before stripping down. He caught sight of his own morning erection in the mirror which squealed "Oh very nice" at him before it fogged over completely.

On second thought, he turned the shower temperature down a bit before stepping in.

Severus soaped up his hair, massaging his scalp to relieve some of the tension that liked to gather there as he went. Harry had strong hands; he would probably be good at this.

_Dammit_.

_I will not wank to the thought of Harry Potter's dick pressed against my back. _

_I will not wank to the thought of Harry Potter's dick pressed against my back. _

_I will not wank to the thought of Harry Potter's dick pressed against my back. _

_I will not wank to the thought of Harry Potter's dick pressed against my back_, he thought to himself repeatedly like doing lines in school.

Unfortunately this just ensured that the only thing on his mind was the feeling of waking up with Harry pressed against him and the memory of how comforted he had felt the night before. Even touching himself as he ran soap over his tired body was turning him on more.

Finally he gave up and gave in. When he took himself in his hand he was determined to draw as little pleasure from it as possible, but his body had other ideas. He used the slickness of the soap to pump himself vigorously, and though he came in record time the orgasm that raced through his body seized his backside and curled his toes. Severus tried unsuccessfully to arrest the guttural groan that was torn from his lungs, and he was suddenly grateful that his other hand was firmly braced against the slick wet tiles as he convulsed involuntarily.

If they hadn't started already, hell's minions were definitely tearing out his special level of hell now.

Severus quickly finished washing up before wrapping himself in a towel. He ran a hand over the foggy mirror to apply a quick shaving charm and nearly sliced off his ear when the glass purred at him in a knowing voice, "Glad you took care of that."

He made a rude gesture at the mirror and stormed out of the bathroom only to be assaulted by the chilling dry air on his still soaking body which was largely exposed, save for the towel wrapped around his waist. Harry sat up in bed and his eyes widened almost comically when he saw him.

Mustering as much dignity as he could, Severus explained, "The mirror and I had a disagreement. Bathroom's all yours."

Harry was flushed and stealing glances at his bare chest but feigned nonchalance when he said, "It usually just tells me to take better _care_ of myself," before disappearing into the bathroom. Severus had not missed the inflection he had put on the word 'care.' Unfortunately, neither had his cock.

* * *

Hermione paced nervously in Draco's bedroom, mentally checking off all the things she had needed to do. After five minutes, she gave up and pulled out her _actual_ checklist to make sure it was complete.

Crooks was in his carrier. Draco had provided her with enough new parchment for a lifetime, and she had quills and ink to boot. Ron had retrieved her trunk from the Burrow, and it now contained all of her supplies along with her clothes.

Tops, bottoms, bras, panties — check, check, check, and check.

School robes, dress robes, casual robes — all affirmative.

Socks… had she remembered socks? No! It was summer now of course she would forget the socks!

"Oh what else had I forgotten?" she groaned before throwing her trunk open, only to shrieked with horror when a house elf popped out of it.

"Wikket is sorry for startling Miss, but Wikket was afraid Miss would leave without her."

Hermione clutched at her heart and advised it to keep beating. "Wikket?!" she yelped. She had completely forgotten about the house elf's request to be bound to her. Of all the times to have this discussion.

"Wikket thought that if she stowed away and worked for Miss at Hogwarts, Miss would not have the opportunity to object."

"I can't have a house elf at Hogwarts. It's not allowed!"

"With respect, Miss, many students are sent to Hogwarts with their house elves, though they serve the whole school while in residence. Wikket thought Miss knew that! Wikket is so sorry!" the tiny lady wailed and started beating her head against the trunk.

Of course she wouldn't know that. Everything about house elves was conveniently left out of _Hogwarts: A History. _"Are you incapable of speaking in the first person?!" she snapped before physically restraining the elf from hurting herself.

"With respect, Miss, house elves do not consider themselves whole persons until they find their other half— Wikket believes what Miss would call—"

"Soul mates," she said and the elf nodded from the crook of her elbow. It was so simple and sweet, and she had been so culturally insensitive that she collapsed back onto the bed with a huff. "I'm sorry, Wikket."

"Miss need never apologize to Wikket."

Hermione just sighed, realizing quickly she was probably not going to win that argument. "Very well. I won't leave you with the Malfoys if you don't want to be here, but I _will_ be setting you free," she asserted, already rummaging in her trunk for a shirt.

"No!" the elf screeched and collapsed to the floor at her feet. "Miss must not set Wikket free!" she wailed.

"Yes, Miss must."

"Oh, no! Miss does not understand! Miss would break the Sacred and Most Ancient Bond with Wikket. She needs it to protect Miss, and with it Wikket cannot lie to Miss."

"I know you would never lie to me."

"No! Not would never. _Cannot_ lie even if a wizard tried to force it. The Sacred Bond protects both!"

Hermione paused to ponder this. She would really have to look more into the bond between a house elf and its Master, but she highly doubted a situation so dire would arise that someone would try to force the elf to lie to her. Well, it had happened with Harry, but Kreacher had managed to distort the truth anyway.

The little witch continued to have vapors at her feet while desperately grabbing at the hem of her pants. There was such panic in her eyes Hermione could not find it in her heart to deny her.

"Alright, Wikket. I will not set you free." The desperate cries were replaced with excited squeals as the elf hugged her leg. "But I reserve the right to change my mind in the future, and you absolutely_ must_ tell me if you no longer wish to… serve me." The last two words left a bad taste when they came off her tongue.

"Thank you, Miss!" Her words were spoken into Hermione's jean-clad leg, to which she was still attached.

"But I will be paying you, and I'm not going to make you ride to Hogwarts in my trunk! If you don't feel comfortable sitting in the compartment with us you can meet us there."

Two pointy ears flopped vigorously and the elf disapparated. She re-apparated a moment later inside Hermione's trunk, holding a colorful pile in her small green arms. "Miss had neglected her socks," she said, before nestling the sock pairs in lovingly and disappearing again.

* * *

Harry flooed directly to Malfoy Manor with great anticipation.

He'd already been staying at Hogwarts for a week while he got the DADA classroom and his office ready, but he wanted to take one last ride on the Hogwarts Express for old time's sake. As an added bonus, all of his friends would be there, and he could get the jump on which of his students were going to be the troublemakers.

"Harry!" Hermione flung her arms around him the moment he fell out of the fireplace. He choked on the dust, and then her hair, which his lungs were making a valiant effort to inhale. "Two weeks without an owl! Snape can't have been keeping you _that_ busy."

"It was only one week, and have you forgotten what he's like already?"

"Well, never mind, we've got loads of time to catch up on the train. Ron will be here—" her words were cut off by the swirl of flames and the fireplace coughing out the tall figure of Ron Weasley, his trunk, and an empty bird cage.

"Ron!" Hermione said and offered him a similar greeting to the one she had bestowed upon Harry.

Though Ron had passed all of his NEWTs and indeed been accepted to Auror Academy, they were concerned about his lack of experience in actually brewing the NEWT level potions, as he might have to do while out in the field, since he had not taken the seventh year class. Once his father got wind of this, Arthur Weasley insisted that Ron returned to Hogwarts on a part time basis to "avoid any hint of favoritism." Ron had furiously argued that having a father as the department head should at least not make his career path any _harder_ than any other Auror, but agreed to return to take the seventh year potions class in the end.

He would never admit it under pain of torture, but he was relieved Ron would be there for moral support.

The three friends walked arm in arm out of the sitting room, Harry toting Pig's cage and Ron dragging his trunk with the arm not claimed by Hermione.

"Let's take these to the foyer. The car's waiting," Hermione said.

"Car?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Just wait until you see it," she replied breathlessly.

When they reached the grand Manor entrance there were already two trunks stacked by the door along with what looked like two cat carriers.

"I didn't know Malfoy had a cat," Ron said and put his trunk next to the door just as a man in a smart tuxedo came to retrieve it.

The chauffer had all three trunks, the two carriers, and empty owl cage floating in the air with a swish of his wand and they bobbed along after him as he left again.

"I don't; it's a ferret," Draco answered for himself as he emerged from the hall.

Ron and Harry looked at each other like Christmas had come early. Their mouths moved silently for an awkward minute as the multitude of scathing comments flashed before them, but evidently were too overcome by the sheer potential that information presented that they were stunned into silence.

"All ready then?" Hermione asked Draco, who had his suit coat thrown over his shoulder and his hair slicked back.

The four of them walked down the very, very long sidewalk to the waiting car, which turned out to be a stretch limousine. "To muggles it looks like a clunker," the driver explained as he opened a door to bow them in.

The car was, unsurprisingly, even bigger on the inside. It was slightly wider, but was quite a bit taller, meaning once they got in they could easily stand and move about freely if they wished. Harry knew from experience with magically enhanced transportation that one was bed advised to sit down.

There were bench seats against all four sides of the compartment, and they faced into the center. Draco and Hermione shared one, while Ron and Harry were content to stretch out on their own.

"A guy could get used to this," Harry said while sending Draco a coquettish look over his shoulder.

"Stick with me, kid," the blonde replied with a wink.

Ron pretended to wretch.

And with that, the four friends easily slipped into the sociable banter they had perfected over the summer. It felt very similar to hanging out as a trio, as they had for so many years, except perhaps that the insults were a bit more caustic from all parties, save perhaps Hermione, with the addition of the fourth.

They reached King's Cross, which Harry was relieved to see was its regular drab and dingy self instead of the blinding white of purgatory, and disappeared through the barrier at platform 9¾ as students for the last time.

The group garnered a lot of attention as they had in the Great Hall when they went to take their NEWTs. The older students were still staring disbelievingly at Draco and Hermione, who strangely became more affectionate in public than when at ease in their company. He suspected they were either trying to make a point, or save him from some of the attention, or perhaps both. As it was, the younger students were all fixed on him with awe that smacked of hero worship.

_Great_. How was he supposed to teach through star-blindness? Maybe if he lectured naked they would realize he was just another person.

No, that would probably be frowned upon.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, all thoughts of everyone staring at him gone the moment he saw one person that was looking directly at Malfoy. Gregory Goyle stood alone at the end of the station. He would have expected him to be glaring murderously at Harry, as he had just recently helped put his father in prison, but instead the man — or overgrown boy as it were — was looking at Draco with a distinctly lost puppy look.

"Oi! Malfoy!" he said and elbowed the blonde. Malfoy turned to follow his gaze while Goyle continued to look at him like a starving animal might a juicy steak. Harry could have sworn he actually licked his lips at one point.

"He looks so… lost," Hermione observed sadly, looking at Draco for an explanation.

"His father just died," the Slytherin said while returning his gaze to their small group.

"Died? I thought he just went to prison?" Harry asked.

"Apparently his port key failed. Some muggles found what was left of him in a ditch in Reading."

His stomach did a flip. Had he made the port key for Goyle, Sr? He was going to until that dog showed up. Was he the one that had screwed it up and gotten the man killed? He was only eighteen; what business did he have taking someone's life into his hands like that?! "H-How did it fail?"

"They're not really sure. That's the strange thing; there were a few that did. Port keys don't normally fail once they activate unless the key itself isn't strong enough for the spell."

Harry's belly did another flip, then a summersault, and then did a triple full layout twist off the vault but badly botched the landing.

"You can invite him to join us if you want, Drake. He looks so sad," Hermione wore a concerned expression as she looked over at Goyle. And they called Harry a Saint.

"Not just yet, Hermie. Trust me."

He _hadn't_ used the blade of grass to make a port key, had he? After he ran out of stoppers he'd started using his own buttons, and after that? He couldn't remember. By then he was on auto-pilot. _Shit!_

Ron noticed the rising panic on his face and was looking at him quizzically. He just shook his head as if to say "Not now" and tried to school his expression.

"C'mon 'Mione, Ferret knows best. Let's get on board before all the cabins are full," Ron said, dragging her attention away from Goyle.

"Well I'm pleased you have finally acknowledged my intellectual superiority," Malfoy crooned and popped his collar with a grin.

"Yeah, right, but you still got beat in _all_ your classes _by a girl_."

"So did you."

"She's my friend. I'm excluded."

"From what exactly?"

"A lifetime of shame?"

Harry followed along as the two continued to argue. Well, a full bicker-free hour had been nice at least.

They found an empty cabin, but the sheer volume of people passing them in the hall promised they wouldn't be alone for long. To his relief it was Ginny that found them, and she was accompanied by Luna.

Malfoy seemed to relax marginally at seeing her. He probably felt like a snake in a lion's den with the three of them. Well, all things considered, he was a snake in a lion's den when he was with them. At least now there was a raven, too.

All of Harry's panicked worry came to a screeching halt the moment he got a good look at Luna. He'd always valued the girl for her kindness, and admired her for her strength. While he had fallen in and out of favor over his years at Hogwarts she was never particularly in favor, being frequently excluded for her quirks. She was always cheerful, though and had, in all seven years he had known her, at the very least a _Mona Lisa_ smile. It was with considerable consternation, therefore, that he noticed the frown on her face.

He tried to engage her in conversation, but she just gave one word answers before returning to gaze out the window. A quizzical look sent to Ginny indicated the redhead was blissfully unaware anything was wrong with her friend. One downfall of growing up with six brothers: Ginny was sometimes woefully emotionally inept.

Harry sighed and tried to keep up with the conversation in the compartment, which mostly consisted of Draco and Ginny insulting Ron, and Ron insulting them both in return, while worrying both about the port key or keys he may or may not have messed up and now Luna as well.

He wished the train was not so full, so that he could take her somewhere to talk in private, but as it had reached the point of standing room only that was not going to happen. Instead he tried to enjoy his friends' company and the droll conversations as the train steamed towards its destination.

Shortly after sunset the imposing towers of Hogwarts came into view and the boys took turns in the privy while leaving the girls the compartment to change into their Hogwarts uniforms. After twenty minutes Ron started banging impatiently on the door. "What could you possibly be doing that would take this long?"

Malfoy shook his head and said lowly, "Never ask that."

When the door slid open a moment later, Ron was face to face with the tip of his sister's wand. She promptly hexed him into silence and retook her seat.

"Told you," Draco said.

Ron's mouth moved, but no sound came out. He was talking at Malfoy first, and then appeared to be pleading with his sister for his voice back. Harry couldn't help but laugh, and soon the whole compartment was cracking up as Ron's face grew redder. Ginny un-hexed her brother just in time to hear him sputter, "—telling mum!"

"Go ahead. She'll just congratulate me on a perfectly executed silencing charm!"

The older Weasley pulled a face at the younger Weasley just as they pulled into the station at Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried off the train and Harry smiled in earnest when he heard a familiar voice yelling, "Firs' years this way!"

"Hagrid!" Hermione cried with delight and attempted to envelop him in a hug. Her arms didn't even reach halfway around him. Harry and Ron joined her, delighted the half giant was back at Hogwarts. "It's so good to see you!" the witch voiced for all of them. "Are you teaching again this year?"

"Yep! Takin' the Care o' Magical Creatures classes again! Can't be leavin' the castle in her time o' need, now. Firs' years over here!" He waved the giant lantern he was holding back and forth and the crowd of first years around him grew.

"That's wonderful, Hagrid!" Harry said, giving the man a congratulatory, albeit a bit awkward, pat on the arm. "Well we'll see you at the feast."

"See ya at the feast, you lot! Firs' years follow me!"

They rejoined Luna, Ginny, and Draco, and the six of them shared a carriage where Harry again unsuccessfully tried to engage the morose blonde witch. Once they reached the castle they had to sit with their houses, at least for the beginning of the feast. "Come sit with us once it's started, yeah?" he asked Luna. She nodded at him while smiling sadly. He finally just crushed her in a hug, wishing there was more he could do to put the smile back on her face.

"I'm leaving too! Where's my hug?" Draco whined. Harry glared and punched him lightly on the shoulder ("Ow!") but Hermione came over to let him kiss her on the cheek.

Candles floated in abundance around the Great Hall, whose sky reflected a clear starry night. The three of them settled onto a bench together while Ginny went off to catch up with some of her year-mates. Harry's gaze was immediately drawn to the front of the room where he found Severus seated in the center of the high table. The older man was already looking at him, and his acknowledging nod was minute and accompanied by a single-sided quirk of his lips. Severus really ought to smile more often.

Harry felt immediately better once he'd determined the man was alright. Though he knew perfectly well Hogwarts was the safest place on Earth, the irrational fear that something might happen in his absence had been niggling at his mind from the moment he had flooed out of the Headmaster's office.

The last week had been spent in pleasant quietude; he'd dumped his stuff off in his makeshift dorm and spent the majority of the time in the Headmaster's office with Snape. The man seemed determined to keep him at arm's length, but no further than that. He took every meal with Harry, gladly shared his thoughts on the school curricula or latest news from the _Prophet_, and made sure to fill his time with work that they could do together such as memorizing more stacks of photos (this time of incoming children instead of Death Eaters). On the other hand, Severus retired to his rooms every evening not long after sundown, resisted more personal conversations stubbornly, and refused to "burden" him with the owls that came in from the Board of Governors that always put him in such a foul mood.

He supposed it could be worse. The image of a jar of cockroaches flying towards his head in particular came to mind.

Once everyone was seated, McGonagall bade them quiet down before escorting in the first years. There was murmuring amongst them when the witch placed the ratty old Sorting Hat on a stool. Several of them looked absolutely terrified; those were probably the students with brothers like Fred who'd told them they'd endure some painful test on the first day.

_Oh, Fred._

The Sorting Hat wasted no time, jumping off its seat the moment it was released by the severe-looking witch. Its brim ripped opened and it launched into song:

_Ten centuries dead they lay  
That stitched me up and spat me out.  
A faithful servant I remain,  
But that's not all this hat's about._

_I welcome you to this transient rest:  
A brief respite since the war's been won,  
As sadly now I must inform you  
That the battle's just begun._

_E'er faithful in my servitude  
I've drawn and quartered the masses.  
But all it begot was fear and mistrust  
Amongst ye lads and lasses._

_You Slytherins so sly and cunning  
In your vicious, wholesome charm  
Would look upon a white waving flag  
With rampant, rank alarm._

_You Gryffindors so bold and brave  
Are trending towards the reckless  
Would stride with pride to early graves  
Wherein you would be feckless._

_You Ravenclaws so sharp and keen  
Cleave to logic so emphatically  
Would trust not one that calls hirself* friend  
'Less they prove it mathematically._

_You Hufflepuffs so fair and just  
With neutrality so crass  
Would call a cobra by the name of spade  
Till it bit you on the ass._

_Alas perhaps the fault is mine  
For rhyming through these trying times  
I offer up three truths so fine  
As penance for my rhyming crimes:_

_The truth in a truth is no less the truth  
When it abides by no parameter.  
A rhyme of the times is no less a sign  
Disguised in iambic pentameter._

_Strange enemies and allies are found  
Across the seas and oceans,  
And mysteries reveal their truths  
For a few persuasive potions._

_The third and final words I'll say  
May sound like just a tease,  
But you'll find out that in no time  
Good and bad things come in threes._

_Still I must complete my appointed task  
For you'll need somewhere to sleep.  
So smarten up and put me on  
I've got promises to keep._

The hat collapsed back onto the stool and fell silent. Professor McGonagall, who had looked ready to tackle the hat after hearing its rhyme for "crass," sent a bewildered glance at the Headmaster before pursing her lips at the scroll in her hands and calling, "Allen, Aaron!"

A tiny slip of a boy with sandy hair and big brown eyes walked hesitantly to the front of the room. McGonagall held the hat up and put it on his head the moment he sat down. _"Slytherin!"_ the hat announced after a few seconds.

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter, and Aaron Allen went to sit with his house. Harry noticed that Malfoy had situated himself at the front of the table and was quick to greet his incoming housemate.

"Allen, Tom!"

Tom smacked of being Aaron's brother. They had the same eyes and nearly identical shades of hair that was cut in the same fashion, except Tom was a few inches taller. The Sorting Hat wasted no time sending the boy to Slytherin along with his brother, who was already talking animatedly with Draco.

The sorting took longer this year; it wasn't just his imagination. Though he'd only made it to three, he distinctly remembered about ten eleven year olds clambering onto each table. This year there was nearly sixty incoming first years in total, a fact which had been lost on him in the rote memorization of names and faces he'd endured over the last week.

He clapped and whistled with his housemates every time a student came to the Gryffindor table. Towards the end all four tables began to elongate at one end to accommodate the extra students.

Once "White, Jessica" was sorted into Ravenclaw, McGonnagall removed the hat and stool, and conversations started to start up around the table. It was amazing how quickly the noise could crescendo in the Great Hall, though it dropped off dramatically the moment Severus stood and made his way around the high table.

He stepped up to the podium, resting his hands on either side of it, and said, "Quiet down, please."

The words were spoken in conversational tones, but everyone, save the first years, fell instantaneously silent. The younger students quickly followed suit, seeing the sudden change (and sometimes blatant fear) in their housemates.

"Thank you," Snape said, the term always sounding distasteful coming off his tongue. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we begin I have a few announcements. First years will take note that the forest on the castle grounds is filled with deadly creatures and should be avoided without faculty escort. _All_ students will remember that nonessential spells in the corridors between classes are not allowed.

"I have elected to enact an Open-Gargoyle Policy this year," Severus said while scanning his audience intensely. Anyone that didn't know him, which was pretty much everyone, would not have recognized the minute dip of his eyebrows and set of his jaw: there was sadness there, though well hidden. "Many of you suffered at the hands of certain… teachers at this school while it was under my command, and, though I can assure you no such thing will be tolerated this year, should anyone wish to seek reparations or… an _explanation_ of sorts they need only seek the Headmaster's office between the hours of eight in the morning and ten in the evening. The password _Pfefferminz _will be active for this purpose during those hours all year. Anyone that does not know where the Headmaster's office is can inquire as to its whereabouts with their house Prefects.

"As a special treat, our own Celebrity Potter will be teaching the first thru fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, with myself and Professor McGonagall taking the higher year classes and assisting as necessary. _Good luck, Mr. Potter_," Severus said, and _smiled_.

He took it back. Maybe Snape shouldn't smile more often; it was the most frightening thing he'd ever seen.

"Finally I would like to welcome to Hogwarts for the first time Arabella Figg who will be our new Professor of Muggle Studies. Welcome, Professor Figg."

Harry's head popped up when he heard Mrs. Figg's name and he scanned the table. All the way at the left end, being dwarfed by Hagrid, sat his old neighbor. She looked vaguely nervous as she stood and waved to the crowd, a blush tinting just the tips of her olive cheeks. Hagrid nearly took her out with an elbow in his steadfast applause, and he suddenly commiserated that her nerves might be more due to the very real possibility of the half-giant accidentally crushing her than from standing for the crowd. Harry could relate.

Mrs. Figg wore a smart business skirt suit. Her hair was curled and piled on top of her head underneath a dainty pillbox hat with black Russian netting that just came over her eyes. The effect was quite dramatic to Harry, who was used to seeing her in oversized cable knit jumpers with a cat on each shoulder.

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly at the woman and a moment later empty plates and platters full off food popped up on the tables.

"Harry isn't that—" Hermione began.

"My old neighbor."

"I thought you said she was a squib? What's she doing here?" Ron asked around sips of Pumpkin juice.

Hermione glared at him. "You don't need to be a witch to teach Muggle studies. In fact, I think it's brilliant—"

"But how could she even see to get in? Doesn't _Hogwarts: A History_ say it just appears as ruins to non-magic folks?" Ron asked, trying to sound intelligent.

Her eyes narrowed further, as if incensed the boy would have the gall to parry her own imparted knowledge back at her. "Those are only _passive defensives_, Ronald. What do you think Filch has been doing all this time? Wandering around blind?"

His redheaded friend didn't have an answer to that.

"Besides, how do you think muggle parents make it here for parent/teacher conferences?"

"Oh, I didn't think—"

Harry had to admit he hadn't thought of that either. In his defense, he didn't have parents and since his legal guardians hated him, everything to do with magic, and everything to do with him just for good measure he had not even been aware Hogwarts hosted parent/teacher conferences.

"That's right. You didn't think. Now, as I was saying, I think it's brilliant to have someone teaching Muggle Studies that's actually lived as a muggle."

"But you'd lose the whole wizarding perspective."

"Perhaps to a certain extent, but that's what the students are for. Besides, it would be like learning French from a native English speaker versus learning it from a native French speaker. The English speaker would understand better what difficulties you might have, but the French speaker would know the language and all of its nuisances better. Either way, some things might be lost in translation, but you'd learn others you might never have," she huffed, and firmly applied herself to her bangers and mash.

Harry looked between his two friends, which was easy because he was seated with one on either side of him, and concluded he was in for a very long year.

"Budge up," a familiar Slytherin voice said behind him. Harry scooted away from Hermione and was soon shoulder to shoulder with Ron and Draco.

"Oi! You can't do that! You have to stay with your house!" Ron objected around a mouthful of food.

Hermione leaned forward. "No he doesn't. It says so in _Hogwarts: A History,_" she said astutely before returning her attention to the newcomer.

Ron, who had probably never read a single page of _Hogwarts: A History_ let alone all one hundred and forty seven versions of it, and was indeed purely getting his information secondhand from Hermione, snapped his mouth shut. Harry had been privy to this knowledge due to the spectacular coincidence that he owned a particularly hearty invisibility cloak, and his friend, who was sometimes too smart for her own good, had asked to borrow it one evening. When asked she cheerfully explained her desire to break into the Restriction Section of the library to view the original manuscript as the "only version she hadn't seen."

After Draco leaned over to whisper something in Hermione's ear before getting up again to leave, she suddenly looked shocked and worried. "Oh no," she said quietly.

Harry couldn't tell if it was a Guy Problems "oh, no" or a General Purpose, "oh, no," but when she looked up at him pleadingly he just _had _to brave an entire night of male bashing if it meant comforting his friend. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

"What's up?" he asked her.

"The Hat's put _muggle-borns_ in Slytherin," she said looking dismayed.

"Oh — well that's good, right? Challenging the old stereotypes and all?"

"I meant that _gradually_! And not at the expense of the safety of _first years!_ Do you have any idea how hellacious their lives are going to be for the next few years? Possibly their entire time here?"

"I see. Is that what Draco wanted to talk to you about?"

She looked down at her lap where her fingers were fiddling with the air. "Yes. They told him the moment they sat down. He asked if I thought he should tell them to keep it quiet or not."

"What did you say?"

"I said they should not have to hide who they are," she said dejectedly.

"Well good," he stated firmly. "You are absolutely right."

"And if something happens to them it will be on my head."

Well he hadn't thought of that.

"Draco's worried too. He's going to stay with them as much as possible until he knows if they are in any kind of danger, and from whom."

Harry turned towards Slytherin table to see a tall blonde head poking up egregiously amongst a sea of smaller students. They were all talking excitedly, seemingly asking him questions which he answered with enthusiasm and the most open, non-schmoozing smile he'd ever seen on the man. Strangely, it made him feel better.

"He looks like he's got a handle on things. And I'm sure Slughorn—" Harry stopped mid-sentence when he caught a glimpse of the Potions Master at the head table. Slughorn had pulled up a seat at the far left end of the table, apparently so he could blatantly flirt with Arabella Figg, much to Harry's distress. "Well he might be a bit busy, but really Malfoy looks like he has it under control."

The pat he bestowed upon his friend's shoulder did not appear to make her feel better.

Ron, who had been talking with Dennis Creevey, turned to them, face flushed and excited. "Did you hear the Hat put _muggle-borns_ into Slytherin? I think it's finally gone barmy!"

"What?" Hermione snapped. "Muggle-borns can't be sly and cunning?"

"Well of course they can, just look at you," Ron said, slightly confused by the witch's bark. "But it's a death sentence, isn't it?"

Harry tried to silently glare the words _shut your big trap right now_ _Ronald _Weasley at his friend, but a deep voice from behind them saved him the agony of defeat. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Hello, Headmaster. _What_ _happened_?" Hermione asked the tall man standing behind them.

"It looks like the Sorting Hat's finally gone barmy."

Ron smiled triumphantly.

"Mr. Potter there is an emergency staff meeting at nine in my office."

"And that includes me I take it?"

"Unless you've had second thoughts about teaching these miscreants. I can't say I would blame you, but it would put me in a bit of a jam."

"No, Professor. I'll see you there," Harry smirked.

"Very well. Good evening," Severus said and bowed slightly to the group before sweeping his way back up to the high table.

"So much for a normal year at Hogwarts," Harry sighed.

"What d'you mean? Strange and exciting _is_ normal for us," Ron replied.

"Good point."

* * *

* _hirself_ is a Gender-Neutral pronoun meaning "himself or herself" where the gender of the person being referred to is irrelevant or indefinite. The word was invented specifically for this purpose. Though you would not find it in Merriam-Webster it does have some precedence, particularly in the LGBTQIA community; I did not just pull it out of my ass. ;)

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter's title is adapted from a lyric in _When Johnny Comes Marching Home_.


	23. Odd Man Out

Chapter 23 — Odd Man Out

* * *

"Where's Luna? I thought she was going to come and sit with us?" Hermione asked, her eyes perusing the Ravenclaw table.

Harry turned around to do the same, but could not find his friend amongst them. He checked to see if she was with Ginny, but a further search showed her to be nowhere in the hall.

"I don't know, but the Marauders might," he said, his mind going to the piece of parchment tucked away in his trunk. He hadn't yet had the nerve to tell Severus about the Marauders Map, so it was safely hidden in his rooms. "Do you think she's alright? She looked awfully down earlier."

"Last I heard things were going well between her and Voldy, Jr.," Ron offered.

Hermione smacked him on the arm. "Shhh! You _know_ no one else knows about that, and it may tax your cerebrum to note that not everything that can be wrong in a woman's life revolves around a man!"

First day back, and already Ron and Hermione's arguing was getting on Harry's nerves. "Look, I'll just go and find her. My map's in my trunk."

Harry was already getting up from his seat when the shrill voice of Professor McGonagall sounded behind him. "Oh there you are!" The witch came and put a hand on his shoulder. "I trust you can show Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to the Married Couples Housing quarter?"

He almost laughed out loud when he saw the horrified looks on Ron and Hermione's faces.

"Excuse me, Professor, but did you say _Married Couples Housing?"_ Hermione asked.

Ron was mouthing something he thought was likely the very same phrase.

"Yes. Due to the additional students, we adapted the Couples quarters into dormitories for everyone in your year. Surely I mentioned that in our correspondence."

Hermione, who was still looking vaguely horror-stricken, just shook her head.

"Oh, well, now you know. And Potter kindly collect your other dorm-mates as well," the harried-looking witch said before running off.

Many of the older students were already standing to go and McGonagall was valiantly catching all of the returning seventh years before they walked off to the wrong dorm.

Hermione rounded on him. "You _knew_ about this and you didn't tell us?"

"Well it slipped my mind. Look, it's not as bad as it sounds. We just have two to a room instead of five, and two rooms connect to their own little common area. It's really quite… cozy."

"_Certainly_ Professor McGonagall doesn't expect me to room with a _boy_?" she said, bushy hair flitting about in reflection of her agitation.

"No, Hermione! Calm down! You'll be in a girl's dorm. I don't know who came back from Gryffindor, but they're mixing up the houses when needed to fill out the rooms."

The witch's hair deflated slightly.

"They're all _near_ each other, so I can easily show you to yours. _That's_ why McGonagall asked me to take you two."

"Well why didn't she just say that?"

"Maybe she was in a hurry. Come one let's go, I've got that meeting in a bit." He turned to leave, hoping the others would follow. Further down the table he spotted Dean Thomas in a group speaking with Ginny. "Dean, did McGonagall—"

Dean turned around the moment he heard Harry's voice. "Oh yeah," he said and excused himself from the table. "It'll be just like old times, eh? Hey do you know who my roommate is?"

"Yeah, Ron," Harry said, leading the small group across the Hall.

"Well then who are you marrying?" the redhead asked.

By his tone Ron had assumed Harry had _chosen_ not to room with him. He sighed heavily. "Draco Malfoy."

"What?!" Dean shouted, attracting the attention of everyone nearby.

"He's the only one in our year returning from his house, and there are only three of us. He's the odd man out."

"Well you've got the 'odd' bit right."

"Don't they know that—"

"We were held captive in his dungeons while his Aunt tortured Hermione? Yeah, they've heard. Is this going to be a problem?"

Dean seemed more shocked than angry. He took one look at Hermione, who had undoubtedly suffered the worst at the behest of Draco's father, and shook his head. "I guess not. Anyway, you're the one that has to sleep with him."

"_Next to_ _him_, not _with _him. There are two beds!" Harry said irritably before continuing towards the Slytherins.

He easily spotted the blonde, still at the helm of Slytherin table talking to the younger students. Draco glanced up when he saw the group approaching him.

"Malfoy you got a minute so I can show you where our dorm is?" Harry asked, causing an overflow of excited whispering.

Draco took a nervous look around at the younger students. "Sure," he replied then addressed the first years, "I'll be in the common room later. That's our prefect. Stick with her," he said pointing to a pretty brunette with wavy hair further down.

Malfoy walked down the table to whisper something into the Slytherin prefect's ear before joining them in their egress. He looked worried.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Hermione whispered.

"I know Astoria. She won't let anything happen to them," he said with a confidence he did not exude. Dean was staring at him with the most curious look, but Draco seemed too distracted to notice. "But just in case let's get this over with so I can get back to Slytherin common."

"Oh, so we can still visit our old house?" Ron asked conversationally.

"Of course we can," Harry said. "It's our current house, not our old one. Gryffindor password is _Carpe Diem_."

Ron and Dean exchanged looks, evidently scandalized Harry would say the Gryffindor password in front of Draco.

"Oh Harry!" a female voice called behind him.

He was really never going to get out of this hall.

Any agitation he felt, however, left him immediately when he saw Arabella Figg hobbling towards them. She was wearing fluffy house slippers with her business outfit and waving an envelope in the air as she walked.

"Mrs. Figg!" Harry said, bending down to give the tiny woman a hug.

"Harry! It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Figg," he smiled at the kind woman, who had taken his face in her hands like Molly Weasley sometimes did when he had been particularly close to death or expulsion.

"And who are your friends, dear?"

"Oh, these are my House mates Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Dean Thomas, and this is Draco Malfoy of Slytherin," Harry said and the woman hurriedly shook everyone's hand in turn while giving them appraising looks up and down.

"Pleased to meet you all. Harry I just wanted to let you know that your cousin left this with me. He asked if I would owl it to you, but since I knew I was coming here I thought I'd just deliver it in person." She gently put a white envelope in his hand. It was sealed with sticky tape and had his name on the front, written in sloppy lettering.

"Oh thank you," he said, wondering what Dudley could possibly be contacting him about.

"It's my pleasure, dear. If you need to send a reply I'll be back at Privet Drive tomorrow evening to fetch the rest of my cats' personal effects; I'll be happy to take it to him if you're worried about sending owls to your Uncle's house. I know how he dislikes that."

"'Dislikes' is an understatement. Thank you, Mrs. Figg, that is very kind of you."

"You're welcome. And call me Bella; you're all grown up now Harry!" The woman had a sweet smile on her face that vaguely reminded him of Dolores Umbridge, except it was genuine and distinctly non-toad like. "Now I'll see you in the meeting later, and I believe I'll see you in class Mr. Malfoy. It was nice to meet all of you!" she said before shuffling back to the front of the room.

"'In class'?" Ron repeated.

"Well I already took my NEWTs, you see, but I had this sudden, overwhelming desire to take Muggle Studies."

Hermione burst out laughing. "You didn't tell me _that's_ what you were going to take. It's not going to be like when the Carrows taught, you know."

"I meant the _real_ Muggle Studies. Come on let's go."

Harry followed him out of the Hall, turning the envelope around in his hands.

They stopped so Harry could show Hermione her new dorm. She looked around to see her belongings were already there, and though her unknown roommate had not yet arrived her bed sheets were "distinctly feminine" and she noted with glee that each bedroom had its own bathroom (apparently a key feature in girls' lives) and tiny kitchen, so his friend proclaimed the arrangements "satisfactory."

Hermione accompanied the boys to their rooms which were identical, minus the shockingly pink sheets. Instead they were adorned with the traditional Hogwarts fare: brick red for the Gryffindors and forest green for the Slytherin.

Draco didn't stay more than a few minutes, quickly taking a look around to make sure his belongings had arrived and letting his ferret out of her cage. The lithe creature, whose name was Ictis, flew out of her cage in a streak once the door was open. She poked her nose around the small bedroom before sniffing around in the kitchen and bathroom, then racing out the door to inspect the common room. The group followed her movements with amusement as she bounded onto each seat and sofa, did a lap around the perimeter and then disappeared into the other bedroom. A few seconds later she emerged, running in between their feet and hopping up onto Malfoy's bed where, in what was evidently the ferret equivalent of declaring the quarters satisfactory, she curled up on a green and white striped scarf Malfoy had left out for her and promptly fell asleep.

"Well I guess we're staying," the blonde said with an affectionate grin. "I should get back to Slytherin common, though. Stop by and see me later?"

The last question was addressed to Hermione, who nodded, and blushed, and received a kiss on the cheek for her efforts before Draco departed.

Ron and Dean disappeared into their room to change out of their school robes. Harry, being unsure of what the proper attire for a staff meeting was, left his on and sat with talking Hermione on the couch. A few minutes later the other two returned but he only had a few minutes to chat with them before, sighing, Harry excused himself, heading towards the Headmaster's office to make the meeting on time.

"Goody goody gumdrops," he said listlessly to the stone gargoyle which immediately starting revolving in its shaft. Severus had claimed that the Gargoyle was so used to passwords associated with sweets it wouldn't accept anything else. Harry thought privately it was just his way of holding onto a little bit of Dumbledore, but Snape was such a proud, stubborn man he opted not to call him on it.

When he reached the Headmaster's office the solid wood door was propped open, but other than the snoozing portraits the room was empty.

"Oh Mr. Potter!" a shrill voice called from the back of the room. "Mr. Potter this way!"

He followed the voice, snaking around the massive desk in the room to find a narrow, dark hallway he had never noticed before at the back of the office. At the end of the hallway hug a poorly lit portrait of an old woman with curly white hair sticking out from underneath the most spectacular hat. It looked like a multi-tiered fruit basket, complete with a rainbow of fruit, was sitting on top of her head, and he wondered vaguely if the woman's secret fear in life had been to die from Vitamin C deficiency. Perhaps she'd lost a family member to scurvy.

"They're expecting you. They asked me to send you up," the woman said kindly if a bit distractedly, trying to talk while balancing the monstrosity on her head. The portrait swung open a moment later, revealing a steep staircase that was, if possible, even narrower than the hall had been.

The portrait was whistling a tune to herself absently as he eyed the corridor in front of him with speculation, but since no one else showed up after him he had no choice but to move forward.

He put a foot onto the first step, testing his weight on it, before putting it down firmly and swinging his other leg up to the second step. The portrait closed with a click behind him and he was suddenly alone it what was now a very dark stair.

"_Lumos_," he said, lighting the tip of his wand. He still couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him but it would at least prevent him from taking an unceremonious tumble down the steps.

By the third step he noticed it was dead silent, and the fact that he couldn't hear voices from above bothered him. Perhaps the portrait had been mistaken.

At the fourth and fifth steps the narrow walls seemed to begin closing in on him. Having lived most of his life in a tiny cupboard, he was not prone to claustrophobia so this was a most decidedly strange sensation. Perhaps it was just an optical illusion, like seeing lines on a paper that looked askew but were in fact parallel.

When he reached the sixth step it was becoming difficult to breathe, his breath coming out in ragged pants. Funny, he hadn't thought he was that out of shape. Living on the run — sometimes literally — had done wonders for his physique. Harry began to worry that the staircase was hermetically sealed and that it was in fact a lack of oxygen that was causing his labored breathing.

He decided to take the rest of the stairs at a run.

Harry made it up a few more steps before the walls became even narrower, definitely not an illusion this time, and his lungs were screaming for air. His last mottled thought before he heard the dull thud of his own body hitting the floor and blackness closed in on his vision was, "I'm going to be late for the meeting."

When he awoke some time later it was to the face of angel. That is, if angels were distinctly masculine, had long dark hair, a crooked nose, and dressed all in black.

His dark angel was looking alarmingly worried.

"Harry can you hear me?" Severus asked, his voice tense with concern.

"Sev'rus," he said sleepily, smiling dreamily up at the man. His hand seemed to reach out of its own accord to touch his face.

"Do you know what day it is?" he asked insistently.

"The day I woke up to an angel."

There were a few stifled gasps around the room, and even more blatant chuckles.

"Wha'so funny?" he asked, and then looked about him for the first time to see the amused faces of the entire faculty and staff at Hogwarts.

The floor he sat on and wall he was propped up against were white, and he wondered vaguely if he'd gone back to purgatory. But why was the whole staff here?

"Come on let's get you up."

Strong arms enveloped him, pulling him to a standing position. Their warm embrace left him once he was upright and too quickly for his taste.

He swayed on his feet slightly, and Severus grabbed a hold of him again before he fell. Someone pulled a chair over to them and he was gently deposited into it. The chair was hard and utilitarian, and white… okay, good so far.

But the table — no, the table was all wrong: brown, and long, and looked like it was bought on the cheap at the eleventh hour of a muggle moving sale. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bedraggled countenance of Argus Filch, glaring at him with curious, crooked eyes. No, no, this was definitely hell. Hell _would_ have cheap plastic furniture.

His mind began to clear quickly now that he was up off the ground, and he noticed the pads of parchment out on the table, quills sitting forgotten on top of them. He took in the faces of the other staff members: there was concern, amusement, and curiously. But an underlying feeling of something else — something that felt like impatience, perhaps at wanting to get on with the meeting. _Oh_.

Harry's eyes widened. "S-sorry I'm late. I think the staircase tried to eat me." He rubbed a palm over each eye, hoping that would help bring the room into focus.

No luck: still blurry.

A cold metal was pressed into his hand. _Glasses_. His glasses! He put them on and the room finally stopped swimming.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Clara was supposed to warn you about that."

Severus' face came into sharp focus a mere foot from his face. The man looked grave, but concern was still written on his face in bold**-**faced italics for anyone to see. And he was still touching him.

Despite the fact that the chair beneath him showed no sign of giving out, nor turning carnivorous like the stairs had, Severus still had one hand on his shoulder and the other grasping Harry's arm.

It was nice. Now, if only all these people would go away.

"Do you know what day it is?" the man asked again, sounding like a teacher who _really, really_ wanted his student to know the answer.

He pulled his mind together, concentrating with all of his might. "Tuesday," he said finally, and the crease of worry on Severus' forehead diminished slightly. "Tuesday the 1st of September."

"That's my boy!" another voice said — deep, but friendly. He recognized it. _Slughorn_ he thought. Sure enough he spotted the man in the sea of faces, smiling with a twinkle in his eye.

"What happened?" Harry asked, turning back to the lifeline in front of him.

"The staircase is enchanted."

"What like the moving ones?"

"Yes and no. Helga Hufflepuff had a strange preoccupation with bewitching obscure things and is in fact to credit for both the moving staircases and this one. It senses the user's intentions."

"Perhaps the enchantment needs to be renewed, Professor. I can assure you I have no desire to die by asphyxiation."

This earned him a smirk — not a full smile, so it was safe — from Severus and another round of chuckles from the staff. "It's meant to keep people out that don't belong here, and uses doubt as its defense mechanism. Since you have never been here and Clara failed abysmally at explaining the situation, you were understandably uncertain about coming up here."

"Dumbledore always claimed it was to keep his throngs of suitors at bay," Slughorn offered with a snort.

Snape rolled his eyes. "This is where we hold staff meetings and as such it is desirable to prevent anyone overhearing them."

"Oh I see," Harry said, relieved for the simple explanation and that he wasn't actually claustrophobic nor as out of shape as he'd feared.

Severus put something into his hand that turned out to be chocolate and he nibbled at it, suddenly acutely aware of the attention in the room directed at him and the way his skin heated up slightly where the man was touching him.

"Are you feeling okay now?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

"Would you like to go back to your rooms? I can tell you what you missed," Snape offered kindly, earning him several scandalized looks from the people behind him.

"No I'm fine. I'll be alright."

The man stood up straight and pulled out his wand. "I shall overlook the fact that those are two contradictory sentences for now," he said and with a swish moved the chair Harry occupied over to the table.

Those few that had been standing joined them. Harry was surprised to see Hagrid, though how he had missed him earlier only spoke to his confused state of mind, and wondered how on Earth he had fit through even the first hallway. Professor McGonagall gave him a strained smile, though that could have had something to do with the fact she was sitting next to Sybil Trelawney, who was staring at the top of her head.

"Now, to the issue of the night. It seems our batting-for-brains Sorting Hat has decided to place muggle-borns into Slytherin house."

Harry shoved the rest of the chocolate in his mouth.

"While I personally see this as an inevitable step in the right direction towards equality I fear for the students who have unwittingly become guinea pigs in this endeavor."

He went on along that vane for several minutes before opening the floor for comment.

All of the teachers promised to keep their eyes open for any signs of abuse towards the young Slytherin muggle-borns. Some seemed keen on the idea of having conferences with them periodically throughout the term to see how they were adjusting.

Harry mentioned how Malfoy had sat with them throughout dinner and had voiced concerns very similar to the ones the teachers had. He suggested they might bring him in to consult on how best to ensure the children were safe. The staff, except for Severus who pronounced the idea as "good" and appeared to be giving it a great deal of thought, dismissed his suggestions, like he couldn't possibly know how to protect the students since he was still one of them.

No wonder he had a problem with authority figures; grownups were idiots.

Well after Snape had called the meeting to a close, the professors sat around discussing school matters, primarily complaining about particular children. They were also gossiping about the more publicly affectionate couples amongst the student ranks, speculating how long they would last and who of the pair would initiate the dumping.

Harry didn't think he should be hearing this. In fact, he had no desire to. Severus evidently noted the look of mild panic that formed on his face, and he stood up and asked Harry to accompany him back to his office.

The abrasive chatter dropped off completely once they had left the conference room. The hall outside led to what must have been the Headmaster's sleeping quarters at one end and that dreaded narrow stairwell on the other. Except, the staircase wasn't narrow anymore and not dreaded at all. It was still rather steep, as tower stairs tended to be, but was perfectly tall and wide. What was more, it was well lit.

Severus did have a way of making the darkness go away.

When they reached the end, the portrait swung open with a touch, and the fruit lady called cheerful greetings to them until his companion snarled, "I'll deal with you later," at her and swept past.

Clara _harrumphed_ at him and grabbed a juicy Fuji apple from her headdress, biting into it with a crunch as they passed.

Severus took a seat behind his desk and indicated a chair in front of it for Harry to sit down. He reached into a drawer, pulling out two tumblers and a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

It burned going down his throat, but pooled into a pleasant warmth in his tummy and he found himself smiling soon thereafter.

"Deplorable, isn't it?" Severus stated, leaning back casually in his chair.

Harry looked at his empty glass with confusion. What about throwing down the amber liquid in one gulp had given Severus the impression he thought it was deplorable? "It… tastes alright to me."

"_Not the whiskey._ I meant the staff! When they're not gossiping about their students they're complaining how much their students gossip about them."

"Oh… I hadn't really thought…" Harry stopped short. He wasn't even sure what it was he hadn't thought about. "I'm not much for gossip, so…."

Snape poured him another drink before raising his own in the air. "To common fucking decency," he said, and clinked his glass to Harry's.

The second drink didn't burn quite as much, but still left the pleasant warm feeling in his stomach. His head became a bit fuzzy again, like after he'd just woken up from the staircase incident, and he felt mild relief when Severus relieved him of his crystal-ware and stashed it along with the bottle back in his desk as the staff came filing through his office.

No one had any trouble getting through that hallway. Even Hagrid, though he had to duck a bit through some of the openings, lumbered out without collapsing like Harry had.

They all offered them both good-nights, and Severus said his farewells with a pinched expression, though it softened when Arabella Figg passed through. "Oh, Severus," she said, "I won't have to bother you to take me to Surrey tomorrow. Horace has kindly offered to escort me," she said.

Severus looked appraisingly at the Potions Master. "Very well."

Though his protective instinct for the kind woman who had watched over him for seventeen years had him wanting to hex Slughorn, he supposed he ought to be grateful. He had not even thought about how hard it might be for Mrs. Figg to get along at Hogwarts without magic — or Filch for that matter.

"Goodnight my dears!" she said, giving them her best hand-only wave and the two left the room.

After several pensive moments of silence, Severus began to speak.

"Harry, I just wanted to say that—"

Whatever it was the man wanted to say, however, was cut off by a raspy voice coming from a darkened corner of the room. Professor Trelawney stood there, back rigid and arms out in front of her, the thick fabric of her deep purple robes dangling from them. The woman's eyes, amplified as they were through her thick glasses, were glazed over and fixed at infinity.

_New power grows inside old fortress walls  
A death of fate the trio's last now calls_

_But hope still rests in silent misery  
And with the last holds secrets and a key_

_To find he who slew Melissa the Saint  
A half truth lifts some omniscient constraint_

_Where crystal rains on midnight roads began  
Go seek the lifeless terror's master plan  
_

The madness quickly faded from Trelawney's eyes, and her body relaxed into its naturally hunched stance. She took one glance at Harry and Severus, who had varying degrees of fright in their widened eyes, and looked pained. "Oh good heavens, I've done it again, haven't I?" she asked. "Don't tell me; I don't want to know."

With that she made a hasty, if a bit shaky, exit from the office.

"What the hell was that?!" Harry blurted out the moment she left.

"It would appear to be another prophecy."

"But… it was… rhyming…"

"…and in verse. Just like the Sorting Hat said it would be."

Both men turned to glare suspiciously at the ratty old cap, which was perched innocently on the highest shelf above the Headmaster's desk. The Sorting Hat continued to sit with neither movement nor sound, which only inspired more intense stares from the room's two occupants.

But then, it didn't need to move or talk to feel satisfyingly smug.


	24. The Forest Scene

Chapter 24 — The Forest Scene

* * *

Hermione returned to her rooms briefly, but no one had yet come home for the evening so she retrieved her cat and went back to the boys' quarters to wait for Draco.

That would give her the perfect chance to indulge in a bit of writing as well, before she had to devote every moment she wasn't working with Andrell to studying.

The healer had graciously extended his offer of employment through the school year. She'd had to spend most of the small amount of money she'd saved on tuition, and even then had to borrow from Harry. What was even better, she had somehow ended up with a house-elf she'd insisted on paying a living wage.

Luckily, she found the work she was doing with Andrell quite interesting, and she gathered from the growing frequency of his owls he was desperately in want of her help. His potion had been approved for animal testing — Hermione did not even want to think about the menagerie of innocent rodents that had been _Crudioed _in the name of science, even if they were first put under anesthesia — but failed the second phase when it appeared to produce "giddy euphoria" and "insatiable sexual urges" in its test subjects. She didn't think that boded well for the _Dilectio_ spell, assuming there were others who could master it and that she could find the source of the Dissuasion spell. She was getting irritated at having to send herself notes every few hours, though it did give her the opportunity to use all of the pretty colored parchment Draco had gifted her.

When she returned to the boys' dorm she found Ron and Dean in a heated debate about Quidditch.

"The Cannons are _never_ going to win, Ron! Why can't you accept that and—" Dean was saying as he noticed the portrait entrance to the room swing open.

"Hey Hermione," Ron and Dean both said in unison.

"—let them go? Some bloke put a curse on the team when their manager kicked him and his sticky pet goat out. They haven't even won a _division_ since!"

Hermione, who had stood politely at the door waiting for some sort of invitation to enter decided 'Hey, Hermione' was about as good as she was going to get and came to sit down on an overstuffed armchair.

"_Real_ fans don't just abandon their teams in their times of need! Maybe I'll become a professional curse breaker and see if I can't help them out. Oi, Hermione. You're smart! How can I get rid of this curse?"

She looked up at Ron, whose eyes were blazing with purpose. "There's always the possibility that changing the team's name or relocating them—"

"THAT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!"

"—to another city might get you around the curse. Otherwise you're better off waiting until the person that cursed them dies. That should break it, unless he's passed on the curse ex parte to next of kin."

Ron's face was growing bleaker and bleaker as she spoke.

"Without knowing exactly what the curse was, who set it and when, you'll be at best guessing, and there are thousands upon thousands of counter-curses you'd have to try."

"I have to try," Ron croaked with a twinkle in his eye.

No, no… that was a tear.

_Boys_!

"Well it's a good thing you've joined the Aurors then," she pointed out and cracked open her journal, their conversation again diminishing to a vague buzzing around her.

Now, where was she? Ah, yes, the forest scene. Hermione dipped her quill into the black inkwell that was sitting on the small table next to her. With a meniscus of dark ink being tempted by gravity's coquettish pull nearly falling from the tip in anticipation, she began to write:

_The forest was blanketed with silence. _

_Edward had not truly known the meaning of the word until his heart had stopped beating, eighty years ago when the coldness had overcome him. It brought with it a quiet unlike he'd even dreamed possible. _

_It would normally have worried him, the silence. _

_It told his heightened senses that some large predator was hunting in the jade reaches of his family's territory._

_It would have worried him, that is, had he not known the predator was the one being hunted._

_A faint whiff from the east led his lithe body racing in that direction, courting danger and teasing temptation all the while hoping that maybe today was the day he would give into it. The telltale sounds of leaves crumpling reached his ears and, without thinking, he leapt into the night, landing heavily on a massive furry body._

_The heaving form of the wolf underneath him changed immediately back into its human form._

"_Took ya long enough!" Jacob said with a impish grin, not resisting the weight of Edward pressing his now nude body into the ground._

_Edward snarled, which only elicited a wider smile, before leaning back slightly to soak up the lovely sight in front of him. _

_He did so love catching the wolf just moments after a transformation._

_The younger man's flawless dark skin stretched tight over his bulky chest and his whole upper body was still taught with the effort of running on all fours. Not to mention the sight of his manhood settled perfectly in a bed of dark ringlets._

_When his eyes returned to Jacob's face, he saw that the wolf's smile had disappeared, replaced by an unmasked look of pure desire. Something snapped inside him, and seconds later he found his lips crashing down on the man's, their teeth clashing in a lustful kiss._

_Edward pulled away. "Jacob we can't," he managed to get out in between heavy pants. "Our families…"_

_The wolf seemed to consider him for a moment, his entire body heaving with the effort to breathe, whereas only minutes before he had been racing through the forest at top speed without so much as breaking a sweat. "I don't care," he growled with desperation._

_They were kissing again, the man's lips like an inferno on his cold face and neck, and he had to remind himself to be gentle. Jacob was far more vulnerable in his human form._

_He submerged his fingers into his spiky hair, finding it surprisingly soft to the touch, as Jacob moved further down, taking one taught nipple in his mouth._

_The wolf continued to kiss his way down Edward's slight form, and, when he finally reached his swollen member, shot him a look like he was the guest of honor at a grand banquet before taking his dripping icicle in his mouth like fire. That is, if fire was wet, and warm, and sweet, and made you want to…_

"Harry!" Ron's voice screeched like nails on a chalkboard, ripping her from her beautifully crafted fantasy. "You look like you've walked through a ghost."

Hermione's head snapped up irritably from her writing to see her raven-haired friend standing in the doorway. He was indeed pale, as... well... as a vampire, and his expression looked lost.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked when his silence endured and he made no effort to step into the room.

"There's been another prophecy."

"Bad luck, mate. You aren't going to die again, are you?"

"No," Harry replied, his intense gaze falling on Hermione. "She is."

* * *

Severus sat irritably tapping his fingers on his desk, alternating his death glares between the Sorting Hat and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

Both of them were pretending to be asleep.

It was a minor miracle that neither the hat nor the canvas had been ignited by accidental magic by the time Harry returned a few minutes later, Hermione and Ron in tow. The trio arranged themselves in seats in front of his desk.

"Harry, tell it to me again," Hermione said, her normally calm voice shaking slightly.

"_New power grows inside old fortress walls; a death of fate the trio's last now calls. But hope still rests in silent misery and with the last holds secrets and a key. To find he who slew Melissa the Saint a half truth lifts some omniscient constraint. Where crystal rains on midnight roads began g__o seek the lifeless terror's master plan,_" Harry recited from memory. Severus was not surprised; prophecies had a strange way of burning themselves into your psyche when they were spoken.

The witch had pulled out a leather-bound journal and was transcribing what he said. "And you think the 'trio' refers to us?"

"Well… yeah," Harry replied. "The prophecy was given to me, and we're the _Golden_ _Trio_. Now death is hunting the last member of the trio."

"Right, there's just one problem with that, mate... _we're not dead_," Ron pointed out.

"But we were. I was already starting to cross over when Vol—" Severus hissed when Harry began to speak the name and Harry thankfully stopped short. "When You-Know-Who killed the Horcrux inside me, and you stopped breathing when you were poisoned, Ron, even if it was only for a few seconds. You could have technically been dead."

Ron seemed to consider this while Hermione went back to jotting notes in her journal with a slight crease on her brow.

"What do you think Severus?"

All three of them looked up at him, a mixture of sadness, determination, and fear on their faces. He was suddenly reminded of just how young they were. Hermione looked like she was holding her breath waiting for his reply.

"It's… a possibility, but before we go jumping to conclusions we need to take the rest of it into account. It refers to the 'last' holding secrets. Are there many secrets you hold, Miss Granger?"

She stilled her nervous jittering, looking at him seriously. "To be honest, no, not that you don't know already."

"What about your parents?" Harry asked.

Hermione's face fell.

"What happened to your parents?" Severus asked with concern. Last he had heard the Dark Lord punished Yaxley for failing to collect them, and he assumed the Order had taken his warning and hid them away.

"I… I've been trying to forget about them. I don't actually know what happened to them except that they are safe," she said, but her face saddened and she looked towards him to explain further. "I altered their memories so they forgot about me and moved to Australia. They don't even know I exist."

"That's a very complicated charm. Were you unable to reverse it?" Severus asked.

"I haven't tried yet. I wanted to make sure things had settled down before bringing them back, and that's assuming they even want to come. I didn't exactly tell them what I was doing beforehand."

"I see," he replied, eying her gravely.

"Do you think that could have something to do with it?"

"Considering they don't even know of your existence I highly doubt it, unless they have things that belong to you."

"No, I made sure to take everything of mine. I even raided the family Christmas ornaments."

"Very good," he nodded approvingly. "For now I think we should focus on looking into the things we _can_ decipher. I trust you are up to the task of finding out all there is to know about St. Melissa and how she was murdered?"

Hermione nodded once and he had to fight the grin that threatened his face as she seemed immediately filled with purpose once again.

"There is also the issue of the Sorting Hat's Song. It clearly referred to a coming truth that would be in the form of verse. In effect, it prophesied a prophecy."

"It could have been using Arithmancy," Hermione said. "I'm just not sure how it could have gotten enough information to run a simulation."

"The Sorting Hat is a Master Legilimens," Severus replied. "Stronger than any before save Merlin himself. It likes to remind me of this fact mind-to-mind on a daily basis and undoubtedly absorbs the majority of knowledge held by people coming through this office. Regretfully he is now _asleep_ or ignoring me and will not be roused." He poked the hat with a stick, hoping to catch it off guard, but it just flopped over on its shelf.

"And there's some Theorem of Predicting Predictions or Upside-Down Inverse Flying Hypotenuse Spread that would tell us that a new prophecy is coming and it will be in verse and rhyming?" Harry asked with disbelief.

"Yes there is."

Severus looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway.

"What's he doing here?" Ron asked irritably.

"I asked him to come," Hermione said.

"This had nothing to do with him."

"Well I want him here!" she snapped at the redhead.

"Except it's called the Eigenmode Frequency Vectorization Equations, but you were close," the blonde offered as he came up to stand behind Hermione, his hands grasping her shoulders as he leaned down to speak in her ear. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

The witch just nodded, looking distinctly not alright.

He stood up straighter before he began to speak again. "They can predict when a true Seeing will occur, but the person doing the arithmetic has to both know the Seer and know they can speak for the fates. Depending on how detailed the results are, certain outcomes can envisage the form the prophecy will take, for example if it will be only a few words or several sentences, so seeing rhyme and verse in the resulting equations is not entirely unfeasible."

That had Ron frowning in pain.

"What I find most amazing is that Trelawney even had another prophecy in her," Harry said.

"Oh it does not surprise me," Severus replied. "Evidently most of her… _apparent_ ineptitude at Divination was feigned, as per Dumbledore's orders, to keep her safe. He thought it best if she appeared unlikely to make another real prediction. Otherwise she would have been a target for the Dark Lord."

"Ha!" Ron exclaimed. "And here I thought she was just some batty old coot!"

"Oh she's definitely a batty old coot. When picking a new identity it's best to pick one as close to one's own personality as is safe. She simply dumbed-down her abilities while at the same time boasting about them more than usual and adopting Earth tones. It was incredibly effective. I myself was unaware of her true Talent until the first time she showed up to give me my Monday Morning Report."

"Monday Morning Report?" Harry asked.

"Yes. She evidently gave Dumbledore readings every week. That is how he always seemed to know the most obscure facts, sometimes before they became to be. I have to admit it was well-played, though I do not entirely approve of how he gave the erroneous impression that he was all-knowing. It lead to several… misunderstands," he said, glancing meaningfully at Harry. For him it had meant that he had suffered abuse at the hands of his Aunt and Uncle because he _assumed Albus knew. _He immediately quelled the rising anger in his throat.

"It's the trees," Hermione said quietly.

The room was silent.

"Excuse me?" he asked when it became apparent the witch was not going to elaborate on her own.

"It's the trees!" she said again, looking at him triumphantly.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"When Harry and I came to Hogwarts over the summer to retrieve your experimental potion, Trelawney told me I couldn't see the trees for the forest. Don't you see?!" she said excitedly, her face filled with new purpose.

He was torn between irritation at the very obvious fact that he _didn't see_ and the pleasure of seeing his young friend no longer quite so morose.

"Oh of course," he said vaguely, "but… perhaps you should explain it for the others."

"You said the dissuasion spell would need something living to propagate it. Something that has been around for at least twenty years and…"

"…is either mobile or in abundance and widespread, and wouldn't object to having a spell carved into it," he finished for her, finally beginning to understand.

"And that means…?" the ginger asked.

"Vol—You-Know-Who must have set the dissuasion spell into trees! Their natural energy would have hidden it from any casual observers and he could put the spell anywhere and everywhere!"

Ron sat up straighter, "Oh, right, 'cause they're, like, all over!"

Harry gave his friend a scathing glare and mouthed something that looked much like "Really?"

"How could I have not seen it?!" Hermione jumped up and turned to go, but Severus stopped her.

"Miss Granger! Where are you going?"

"To the Forbidden Forest, of course! It's just as good a place to start as any."

"You do of course realize it's called the _Forbidden _Forest and not the _Ill-Advised_ Forest, correct?"

She looked taken aback by that.

He sighed heavily. "At least take one of these three with you."

Hermione turned to leave again.

"Not right now! It's almost midnight!"

"Well what do you expect me to do?" she whined, which by now he knew she only did when truly and utterly exhausted.

"Go to sleep!"

"Oh, I…" her face fell suddenly.

"I can provide you with a potion if you don't think you are able."

She winced at that. "That's not necessary, I… I'll be fine."

"Very well. All of us, myself included, are overdue for sleep. We shall discuss this again tomorrow with clearer heads."

The two still seated in front of him took this for the dismissal it was and stood to go.

"Miss Granger would you remain a moment?" he asked, and for the third time she stopped halfway out the door.

Harry gave him a longing glance before he turned to go, causing knots to form in the bowels of his stomach.

When the other three had filed out, Draco promising to wait outside for her, he sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and gestured for her to join him. Hermione complied, turning her to face him. "What is it you wanted to speak with me about?"

"Hermione I am sorry to hear about your parents. That was a very selfless thing you did. I am more than happy to offer my assistance with reversing the memory charm when the time comes, although I doubt you would need it."

She relaxed in her chair, her expression softening significantly. "Thank you, Severus. That is very kind of you, and I probably will take you up on that offer when the time is right."

He nodded, his thumb and forefinger going to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I… know I'm not the easiest person to talk to," he began and earned several blatant snorts from the supposedly slumbering paintings in the room.

When he looked up he was relieved to see she had not partaken in their ill-mannered cajolery, but instead was smiling at him kindly and fearlessly meeting his eyes. The temptation to just read her mind through Legilimency came, but he easily ignored it, in no small part due to the fact she was undoubtedly aware he could easily do so and yet trusted him not to.

"I just hope that if you did have any secrets you thought might be relevant to the prophecy you would know you could tell me anything. I, of all people, would never judge you."

Hermione's smile faded vaguely and her hands went to her lap to absently worry away at nothing, as was her wont.

"I don't think I should take anymore Dreamless Sleep, Severus."

"How long have you been taking it?"

"On and off for five months. I have… nightmares."

Really he'd guessed that last part, but he refrained from commenting. "When was the last time you took it?"

"Two nights ago. I was taking it four and five times a week after we were captured."

"I see. Is that what your nightmares are about? Your capture?"

She nodded, her eyes going to the ceiling, as someone who was trying very intently not to shed tears that had formed in their eyes.

He leaned back in his chair, studying the proud witch in front of him. She struggled, but eventually won the battle with gravity and her own pride, as her tears faded and she returned her gaze to her lap.

"Bellatrix does have a way of haunting our dreams," he hazarded, sitting back in the chair and steepling his fingers.

Surprisingly the witch shook her head repeatedly before replying. "It's not Bellatrix that gives me nightmares."

When Hermione wrapped her arms protectively around her chest and began to rock slightly he suddenly had a pretty good idea who it was that was giving her nightmares. "It's Scabior."

She nodded but continued rocking, lost in her own hellacious reality.

"I'm by no means an expert, but I know it can help to talk about what happened," he said after the silence had drawn on. "Will you tell me what happened?"

The girl sat slumped in the chair in front of him, studying her hands for several minutes before speaking. "He was in c-charge of me when they were taking us to the manor. He was… touching me… _everywhere_… the entire time they were arguing about what to do with us. I didn't say anything. I knew that would just encourage him, but Harry and Ron kept struggling to get at him. They _saw everything_," she shuddered. "It was almost worse having them watch, then the fact that it happened. They shouted at him: death threats, then promises, then more death threats. The more they objected the worse he was. I just wanted to yell at them to shut up! How could they not see they were making it worse?!"

The witch, whose voice had gone from quiet to nearly shouting, had given up fighting back her tears and was wiping away at them with a handkerchief she'd pulled from up her non-wand sleeve.

Severus ignored the growing desire to comfort the witch summarily along with the growing desire to hunt down Scabior and force some of the atrocities he had seen the man deliver back on him. Instead he sat quietly channeling Dumbledore, waiting for Hermione to calm down enough to continue.

"Th-they didn't stop, and neither did he. He was holding me around the center and kept… grabbing my breasts and pinching my nipples. It was _horrible_. I just wanted him to stop, wanted _them_ to shut up, but it just kept going on." She shivered though the room was quite warm, and grew quiet again.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Oh that wasn't even the worse part," she said bitterly, shaking her head.

"What else did he do?"

"It wasn't him. It was me. My body… _responded_. Can you believe that?" her angry eyes flashed at him. "Now I suppose I'm some pervert who gets off on strangers forcing themselves on me. I was _actually_ _relieved_ when Bellatrix took me. I didn't think _she_ was likely to sexually assault me, though knowing what I know now I suppose I got off lucky."

He sighed heavily. "The physiological response to sexual stimulation is only in part voluntary. The body responds to some extent on a… primordial level that can have nothing to do with actual desire," he said confidently, and was glad to see she was calming slightly in the face of facts.

"You sound like you speak from experience," she said listlessly.

"Yes, I do," he said simply. "And as a result, I can tell you this occurs in both men and women, and even children victims. It's frequently used by sexual predators as justification for their acts. It is part of the vicious feelings of shame many victims feel as a result, particularly children. When they eventually grow to realize that what is happening to them is wrong they are overwhelmed with the guilt of knowing it was pleasurable to them at the time, but tell me Hermione do you really believe a _child_ could consent to sex?" he asked, getting up to pace the room.

"No of course not!"

"Then I strongly suggest you reassess your thoughts on what happened. It wasn't your fault, nor was your body's response to it. Don't let anyone, most especially yourself, ever tell you otherwise."

Severus ran his hand through his hair as he walked the small space of the room, at once angry with himself for getting so emotional as to lecture a sexual assault victim, and angry with the Death Eater who had perpetrated this violation.

_One Death Eater's head on a platter, coming right up,_ he thought furiously to himself.

The image of Scabior's lifeless severed head calmed him significantly. "From what you've said I assume Draco told you about his… relationship with his Aunt?

"If by 'relationship' you mean 'incestuous atrocity' then yes."

"And have you not spoken to him about what happened to you?"

She shook her head. "What he went through was so much worse."

"And so we arrive at the second mistake many victims make. First they blame themselves, and second they tell themselves most erroneously that their pain is minimal compared to others'. Let me _assure_ you I speak from experience when I say that pain is neither worse nor better, it's just _different_. You are not doing your relationship with Draco any good by telling yourself he can't be bothered by your pain. That I assure you," he offered, trying to keep the anger, which had nothing to do with the poor girl sitting in front of him, out of his voice.

"He just seems so…. self-actualized about the whole ordeal. He said his mother sent him to therapy for quite some time to get over what happened to him."

"And how's that working out for him?"

"Not so well, I guess," she admitted. "He's been… cutting himself."

Severus rounded on her with alarm. "He's been_ what_?"

"I don't think he'll do it anymore!" she was quick to reassure him. "I... gave him... Lily's protection."

His eyes widened in alarm. He too had done some investigating into the Rare Earths magic Lily Evans had used to save her son, and coming from this witch "Lily's protection" could only mean one thing. "You did _what?_"

"I didn't know what else to do! One of his cuts got seriously infected and he wasn't even going to have someone look at it. It was the only way I could make sure he wouldn't hurt himself anymore."

"_Reckless _Gryffindors!" he shouted. "What if he gets a paper cut while you're apparating and you get splinched in half as a result?"

"Well I didn't... can that really happen?"

"_I don't know_!" he cried in frustration. "And I don't know, because this is _ancient_ magic that is at best poorly documented."

"I know it was dangerous, but so is all magic to some extent. I was just trying to help him!"

"Help him by taking away his one outlet for pain?! Then, let me guess, you talk to him about what happened on a daily basis to ensure the pain is not just... bubbling up inside?"

The guilty look on her face was all the answer he needed.

Severus sighed heavily. "Look, I have no doubt that Draco made leaps and bounds in dealing with his demons, but it is not something you truly _get over_… ever. His mother confided in me with what had happened to him when we grew closer over the last year, but I doubt very much she ever actually verbally acknowledged what happened to Draco. Their family is not what you would call… open, and from what I understand he started to refuse treatment as of two years ago."

"Probably telling himself other people had worse problems," she observed.

"Precisely, which is simultaneously selfless and selfish."

"Selfish? How is that selfish?"

"No one can be expected to fully function while that weight is so heavily on their shoulders. As a result others around them must pick up the slack. Not taking care of oneself is _irresponsible_. At the very least confiding in those we trust can help us get through our daily lives until professional help can be sought."

"And how's that working out for you?" she asked.

He would have been irate at the question had he not heard the honesty in her voice. He just snorted. The cheeky witch! "Trust was never one of my strong suits," he conceded noncommittally.

"You trusted Dumbledore."

"He did always have a way of inspiring freakish loyalty in people."

"You trust Harry."

It was not a question, and his thoughts were immediately derailed at the mention of the young man's name. "…also has a way of inspiring freakish loyalty in people."

"He's in love with you, you know."

That stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks, and his heart rate accelerated until he could feel his chest pounding. "I don't…"

"Harry is my best friend, Severus. I've seen the way he looks at you. I'm not interested in arguing the point; I was simply stating fact."

Deciding his best course of action was to neither confirm nor deny any feelings Potter might be feeling, he remained silent.

"Oh don't be such a prude. You and he are irrevocably bonded at the soul. Love is simply a natural recourse of such a bond, romantic or not."

"You make love sound like some involuntary chemical reaction meant to ensure the continuation of the species."

"_Of course _love is just an involuntary chemical reaction meant to ensure the continuation of the species! Why does that make it less valid?" she snapped. "Why does being able to explain something logically make it less valid? Shouldn't it have the opposite effect?"

"I see your point," he finally conceded. "But I fail to see how that is relevant to _this discussion_."

"The relevance is as much as you might like to ignore it there is clearly a connection between you two, and you lecture me about not seeking help from someone I connect with when I need it, when you're doing _exactly the same thing_."

"So you do admit you are in need of help."

She huffed.

"Well I never claimed to have _benefited _from my own knowledge, it just allows me to lecture others with authority," he concluded proudly, eliciting a giggle from Hermione.

"Look, if I promise to open up to Draco will you promise to open up to Harry? About _anything_?"

"Emotional blackmail? Isn't that a bit low for a Griffindor?"

"Desperate times, Severus. We live in desperate times."

* * *

Hermione left the office in a state. Though she was smiling now she had clearly been crying, and Severus was expecting to be on the received end of a death glare the moment the door opened and Draco caught sight of her. The blonde, however, was not waiting outside of his door as he had promised.

The witch did not appear to take much notice of it at first, but soon he saw her looking around in the entry outside his office before descending the stairs. He stood, cursing his Slytherin's negligence and gall to let his friend wander the castle halls alone at midnight. When he stepped into the stairway to follow her, however, he heard voices arguing and picked up his pace.

He caught up with the witch, who was walking slowly down the hall towards the sound. She turned when she saw him but they just exchanged concerned looks and continued towards the end of the hallway where it rounded the corner to another.

"I never figured you for a blood traitor, let alone to your own friend," the spiteful voice of Gregory Goyle reached his ears, and he was unsurprised to hear it was Draco responding.

"I didn't kill your father, Goyle. I don't know why his port key failed!"

"He wouldn't have been there at all if it wasn't for you."

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Oh? So enlighten me." There was silence then, as he assumed what was a staring match occurred, and eventually Goyle snorted. "That's what I thought… traitor," he snarled before walking off.

When his massive body appeared around the corner, Severus instinctively slid his wand down his sleeve in case he decided to curse Hermione. Instead, he just knocked into her so hard she fell to the ground with an alarmed shout.

"Watch it, Mudblood," Goyle hissed spitefully down at her.

"Detention Mr. Goyle! Tomorrow night with Mr. Filch, and twenty points from Slytherin. _I will not_ tolerate the use of that word in this school, do you understand me?"

The over-sized boy had not paused in his retreat, though it was slow and lumbering so Severus heard the reply, "Yeah whatever," before Goyle, Jr. disappearing down the corridor.

When he turned around he saw Draco had gotten Hermione back on her feet.

"Are you alright Miss Granger?"

"Never been better," she said while dusting off her robes. Any residual sadness from their previous discussion had been replaced with ire, which was itself focused in a glorious ray of feminine wrath and directly sharply down the corridor at Goyle's retreating form.

"Mr. Malfoy, I trust you can ensure Miss Granger arrives back at her dormitory with no further trips to the floor?"

"Yes, Professor," Draco said.

"With all due respect, sir, I doubt very much taking house points will be a very effective deterrent for the students that _survived a war_," Hermione said.

"No, of course you are right. However, they may be of some importance to the younger students, and if there is one thing all Slytherins are good at its peer pressure. Nobody's immune to that," he said with an evil glint in his eye.

* * *

Harry slept poorly that night. He was worrying after Luna who, according to the Marauders, was safely locked in Ravenclaw tower, and who, even if he could have riddled out access to the tower, would probably not appreciate him breaking into the girl's dormitory. Not only that, but it was his first night away from Severus in months and he lay in bed trying to riddle out another prophecy. What was worse he had his first class first thing in the morning. This one he would be teaching not taking, and as much as Severus had coached him through it, he did not think he was prepared.

His first period was Hufflepuff and Slytherin first years. Half of the time he pictured a class full of back-talking cretins who disrespected him for his lack of experience, and the other half he pictured a classroom full of mindless drooling masses who didn't hear a word he said as a result of fixating on his scar instead of his voice.

In the end, there was but a smattering of both in the sea of expectant faces, accompanied by a surprisingly large contingent of overwhelmed muggle-borns who had little idea of who he was, or even what exactly magic was.

He had expertly deduced this fact when he had them sit at their desks after introductions were made and asked, "Now! Who can tell me exactly what magic is?"

After several awkward moments, during which the alarm grew on the faces of his Muggleborns, a Hufflepuff hesitantly raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr.-ah-Wainright, is it?"

"Yes, sir. Magic is the manipulation of the supernatural magical force by a witch or wizard to alter the fabric of space or time to produce a result that would otherwise be unobtainable."

"Excellent! Five points to Hufflepuff," Harry replied and, with a flick of his wand wrote the words on the chalkboard. "Now there are some problems with the textbook definition. Who can tell me what they are?"

He kept a smile plastered on his face as he looked out at the clueless faces.

"Over the summer holidays, what was the first thing you did every morning when you woke up?"

"Went back to sleep," a Slytherin boy called Pete Weber said.

He laughed along with the students. "And after your mum had finally pulled you out of bed? Then what?"

"Ate breakfast of course!" a girl in the front row replied.

"_Of_ _course_ you did. It's the most important meal of the day. And after breakfast? Did you do the dishes?"

He directed the question at the girl, whose name he was having trouble remembering, and she giggled in response. "No, mum does the dishes in the dishwasher!"

"_In_ the dish washer? How can you wash dishes _in_ the dish washer?" the Weber boy asked.

The girl looked horrified by the question so Harry answered for her. "Ah, you see in the muggle world a dishwasher is a machine into which you put dirty dishes and receive out clean ones. It could also refer to whoever is doing them; I was the dish washer in my house growing up. In the magical world a dish washer would only refer to the person that does your dishes."

"But our house elf does the dishes," the Weber boy, who was now also looking bewildered, replied.

"So he does. And that now gives us _two_ problems with the textbook definition of magic. House-elves can use magic, but our definition only mentions witches and wizards." He flicked his wand again and where the words "witches and wizards" had been, "witches, wizards, and house-elves" was now cramped narrowly into the same space.

"But, sir, my father told me that hinkypunks can use magic to shoot fire out of their lanterns," one of the Allen boys said.

"And cockatrices use it to avoid capture," the other Allen boy added.

"Oh dear," he said with exaggerated concern. "Well I suppose we can't leave out the hinkypunks and cockatrices. Hmm… how about this?" He made made the chalkboard read "witches, wizards, house-elves, and other magical creatures."

This didn't sit well with some of the Hufflepuffs. "But why even mention witches, wizards, and house-elves specifically? They're magical creatures too. What makes them so special?"

"Ah! An excellent question! What does make us so special? Anyone care to speculate?"

He was met with more blank stares.

"Well for starters witches, wizards, and house-elves fall under the category of 'Magical Beings' as opposed to 'Magical Beasts' or Spirits and whatnot. Magical Beings are generally considered more sentient or self-aware, but this category also includes goblins and vampires, so how about this," Harry said and changed the definition to read simply "magical creatures." "That better?"

The Hufflepuffs nodded as one.

"Wonderful! Now who can tell me the second fault our dish washing example points out?"

"Dishes can be done without magic," one of the Allen boys said. Tom, he thought.

"Excellent! Five points to Slytherin! Dishes _can_ be done without magic, so what business does the phrase a 'result that would otherwise be unobtainable' have in the definition? It is not necessarily the result, but the method by which the result is achieved. Still, we don't really do magic for _no_ reason, so... how about this..."

With a flick of his wand changed the words to "…produce a desired result."

"Any objections there?" he asked the class. A few students shook their heads. "And what about the last problem in the definition?"

He underlined the phrase "supernatural magical force."

"I should certainly expect any vocabulary work you turn into me will not have the word being defined mentioned in the definition! On that note, who can tell me what the 'supernatural magical force' is? Nobody? Even a guess?"

Tom Allen was waving his hand in the air so enthusiastically from the moment he asked the question that he was reminded of Hermione in her first year… and every year ever since for that matter, and he could not help but smile.

"Alright, Mr. Allen?"

* * *

"At this rate we'll never get them together. He's completely in denial of the bond with Harry," Hermione said as she traipsed through the forest's thick undergrowth, making as much noise as possible to ward off any surprises.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Denial is a perfectly valid path to acceptance," her tall, blonde, and handsome companion said.

They both waved their wands back and forth as they walked, muttering spells and incantations in search of their mark. Draco's practice finding dark objects in his home was coming in handy, though she was beginning to doubt either of them had the expertise to decipher the various readings well enough to distinguish one magic trace from another. After nearly an hour of searching, every possible lead had turned out a severe disappointment: several piles of unicorn dung, an old shoe, and one very suspicious rock they decided not to touch.

"Yes, if you're in mourning."

They finally converged on an innocent-looking patch of dirt. She swished her wand in a tight circle, and a few feet away a small object started to glow faintly.

"Is that…" Draco said, approaching the object carefully.

"I think it's a…" she crouched down to get a closer look, then poked the it with her wand, "an acorn?!"

"Well at least we're getting closer."

"How is _an acorn_ any closer? There is nothing else showing trace magic. It's just as likely to have come from some _magical squirrel_ as a tainted tree."

"'Some magical squirrel?' Is that the technical name, Hermie?"

Hermione glared a definite negative while she bent down to pick up the acorn, but Draco reached out to grab her hand.

"Are you mad? It could be cursed!"

"Who would curse an acorn?!" she said and snatched up the small brown object.

"I don't know! Acorn-cursing people?"

"Says the man who took me to task for 'magic squirrels'," she huffed, inspecting the item in her hand. It was interesting, but not what they were looking for. "The magic is too faint. It most likely just came in touch with something magic, like maybe a stray spell or something."

"Yeah maybe a unicorn took a whiz on it."

"Yes, that's possible," she nodded, then screamed and dropped the possibly unicorn urine-laden acorn before casting a quick _Scourgify_ over her hand.

A moment later a loud crashing noise came from somewhere behind her, and she whirled around in time to see a large figure bounding further into the woods.

"Who is there?" Draco asked with definite alarm, his body tense and wand pointing deeper into the first.

"Calm down, Chicken Little, the sky is not falling."

"That didn't look like a chicken to me," her companion said with narrowing eyes, still surveying the greens-scape suspiciously.

"I think it was a Centaur. We must be getting close to their territory," she said, while scanning the woods. Nothing else moved or made a sound, but Draco was still on full alert. "Don't worry, Drake. If anything in here wanted you dead, you'd be gone before you could even say 'Why, Merlin, why?'"

"Oh that's very comforting."

"I thought so too. Perhaps we should message Firenze and see if he will take us thorough the forest."

Draco looked at his watch. "We'll need to do it another time. I need to get to the factory. I missed all day yesterday."

Hermione frowned. Her own parents were adamant amount spending plenty of time at home, but, from what Harry said of his Uncle Vernon, she thought Draco was showing the signs of workaholism. "I'm sure they can survive without you for a few days. School's just started again."

"You sound like my mother," he teased.

"Alright fine. I've got to get back for Arithmancy anyway," she said sadly.

"Don't look so down, baby doll. I'll be back for dinner," he said, and nudged her in the direction of the school.

He left her with a goodbye hug at the tree line and set off towards Hogsmeade and the anti-apparation border, while Hermione sought out the quiet order of Professor Vector and classroom 7A.

* * *

**Fun Fact**: The Curse of the Billy Goat tale comes from Chicago in 1945 when Billy Goat Tavern owner Billy Sianis was kicked out of a game at Wrigley Field, because the fans were bothered by his pet goat's odor. In an excited utterance when exiting the field with his goat, Mr. Sianis declared that the Chicago Cubs, "…aint gonna win no more." The Cubs have not won a World Series in 104 years.


	25. Elusion

**Author's Note**: This chapter is dedicated to my BFF KatFox, without whom I would have certainly strangled key family members during my recent emergency trip home.

* * *

Chapter 25 — Elusion

* * *

Harry bounded through the hall towards the Headmaster's office the moment the last student from his first class filed out, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his excitement.

The lesson had superseded his every expectation. Not only had the students participated, but they had done so enthusiastically, and even the star-dazed hero worshipers had stopped staring glassy-eyed at him long enough to take a few notes.

At the end of the exercise he'd done a few demonstrations of spells they would be working on throughout the year, having decided not to test his luck with their attention spans on the first day of class.

Several of the students actually asked intelligible questions, which he answered, and then watched with gratification as they absorbed every bit of knowledge as absolute truth which then seeped into their young, impressionable minds.

He was immediately hooked.

Unfortunately when he reached the Headmaster's office he found it vacant, so he was stuck extolling the virtues of his first years to a very sleepy, very disheveled Ron. Despite the fact it was well after ten, his redheaded friend was yawning and grumbling about missing breakfast. His Auror training did not start until the following week and their only class was four hours on Friday mornings. Ron had decided to catch up on his beauty sleep in the mean time.

"It's like they actually listened to me, you know?" Harry said excitedly.

"Well you are _the_ _teacher_," Ron said.

"Yes but when was the last time you actually listened to a lecture?"

"When I was eleven?"

Well he did have a point. Maybe he would not be so jazzed after his older students.

Harry tried not to let the thought ruin his teaching buzz. This was better than sex! He'd never had sex! This was better than… than… Felix!

Harry decided to read his cousin's letter so he would have time to reply before the excitement got the best of him. He fished the envelope out of his school bag, using his wand to open it so as to not risk any paper cuts. The stark white muggle printer paper that he unfolded made him appreciate the finer delicacies of parchment even as he read Dudley's barely legible writing.

_Harry,_

_We settled back in at home. Your friends were very kind and accommodating. _

_Hessie mentioned you are back at Hogwarts this year, but would you be available to take lunch sometime? _

_Wizards do eat, don't they?_

_Cheers,_

_Dudley_

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the quintessential Muggleness of Dudley's last question.

_Big D,_

_I am glad to hear you and your family returned safely and that Dedalus and Hestia (Hessie, you say?) didn't strangle your parents._

_We are indeed back at Hogwarts for the year, but I am teaching so I should be relatively free to come and go._

He consulted his schedule, which also included the list of designated Hogsmeade weekends, deciding that if he was going to leave the school at least he could do so while everyone else was leaving.

_Are you available to meet me at The Liberty Pub in Greater Winging this Saturday at noon? _

_Of course wizards eat! What do you think we do, drink stardust and shit rainbows?_

_Cheers,_

_H_

Harry put his quill down, reading over his words with trepidation. Had he really just agreed to meet with his cousin? Willingly? The boy who had done nothing but tease and torment him and make his life a living hell?

True, Dudley had told him he didn't hate him in the end. He had even tried to help during his last summer on Privet Drive, but Harry had been so busy during the last year he'd never even taken the time to reconcile his memories of Dudley his boyhood tormenter with the adult version of his cousin. Maybe this meeting would help with that, and if Dudley turned out to still be an asshole he could always leave and never return.

Besides, the Dursleys were the only family he had left. If there was a chance to hang onto even a part of them he really ought to.

His mother would have wanted him to.

Dumbledore would have wanted him to.

"Oi, what's that?" Ron said when he came back out of his room, now dressed but still yawning.

Harry hurriedly folded up the parchment and sealed it in an envelope before he lost his courage.

"Secret admirer then, eh?" Ron winked at him.

Harry snorted before picking up his quill to scratch "Dudley Dursley" on the front of the envelope. "Hardly. Just my cousin."

"That stupid git! What does he want?"

"That stupid git is the only family I have that doesn't hate me… possibly."

"The only family you have? What am I, chopped dragon spleen?"

(Dragon spleen, incidentally, is a notorious ingredient in Potions making. Every part of the rare magical being, from the top of its head to the tip of its tail, is studiously put to use in potions whenever available, in accordance with the Potioneers motto "Waste a knut, want a knut." Much to their dismay, the spleen was found to be largely perfunctory.

Unhappy with wasting such a precious rarity, Potioneers spanning seven continents and nearly as many centuries had chopped, minced, diced, sliced, filleted, fricasseed, and flambéed the ingredient into what they hoped would be a career-winning brew.

In fact, one Potions Master in Botswana had been so obsessed with finding a use for dragon spleen that he'd established his own Dragon farm, secretly breeding the creatures in the relative seclusion of the Kalahari dessert.

His research progressed unfettered for years, funded by an unexpected inheritance from an Armenian uncle who made his fortune selling reticulated porcelain spider webs. That is, until one evening after a long day of work, during which the hot dry winds had nicely cured the spring grasses to a burnt summer orange, the potions master sat helplessly sipping iced tea on his porch as a wayward game of duck-duck-goose lead to all of the participating dragons lighting the dessert on fire.

The short prison sentence and massive fines he incurred only spurred his interest in the subject. Instead of deterring him, he went on to find the one use of dragon spleen known to date. The potion in which it is utilized requires a one-sixteenth inch julienne, making chopped dragon spleen a veritable pariah to the Potions world. Incidentally, the Armenian uncle's name was Felix Felicius.)

"Friends are the family you _choose_, Ron," Harry said and got up to smack him over the head with the envelope on his way to the door. "They're my only _blood_ relations."

"Oh bother. Don't let Hermione catch you talking about blood relations," Ron groaned as Harry pushed the portrait door open. "Wait! Do you fancy a trip to the kitchens? I'm _starving._"

He turned at the entrance. Ron looked thoroughly miserable; Harry had learned within their first weeks on the move that the boy became highly agitated at the sight of spiders and empty plates. "Our kitchens are fully stocked by the school elves."

"I can't — you don't — I don't know how to cook!" Ron screeched, panic creeping into his voice.

Harry sighed in defeat. "Kreacher!" he called to the empty air, and a moment later the elf appeared with a crack.

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black, Harry Potter, and Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said with a regal bow.

"That's great, Kreacher. Could you help Ron make something for breakfast without blowing himself up?"

"Of course Master Potter. Kreacher lives to serve the noble—"

"…House of Black, me, and Hogwarts, yeah, we got it the first time. Thanks, Kreacher," he said before turning to exit the room, sticking one foot through the portrait door before ducking down to get through it.

This would forever be remembered as the year Harry had to start ducking to fit through the portrait holes. He'd never had to duck to fit anywhere in his life.

The trip to the staff room was short: too short for his taste. Though Severus had assured him he had full access to the areas reserved for the faculty, he could not shake the normal dread that had accompanied him every time he'd had to visit the place as a student, usually with bad news.

The door swung open at his touch, revealing the same scholarly, if poorly-lit, room he remembered. Harry was relieved to find Arabella Figg sitting in an ancient armchair, even if she was squealing like a hyena at some undoubtedly stupid joke the plump man next to her had just attempted.

"Mrs. Figg?"

The woman started at hearing her name, but smiled when she caught sight of him. "Bella, Harry."

"Bella, sorry. Are you still planning on going to Privet Drive this evening? I've written a reply to Dudley."

"Yes, dear. I would be happy to take it!" she said, and he brought it over to her.

"Thank you," he said, and, with a glance at Slughorn, who was leaning unnecessarily close to her, "You will take care of Bella for me, Professor?"

Mrs. Figg laughed in delight, and Professor Slughorn patted her arm, "You have my word, m' boy!"

The smile he sent Slughorn was strained. "Thanks," he said. "How are your classes so far Mrs., er, Bella?"

"Oh wonderful! They are such little dears, though I'm accustomed to much younger students!"

"You've taught before?" he asked, realizing just how little he really knew the woman that had looked after him since he was born… except for her preoccupation with cats.

"Oh my, yes. I ran a pre-Hogwarts school for many years. A young woman took it over just before you were born, though I hear she didn't keep it. In fact I do believe you know her son Draco?"

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his messy fringe. "Narcissa Malfoy ran a preschool?!"

"Yes! Right out of their home, though that awful husband of hers refused to let Squibs study in his house."

He swallowed heavily. Evidently the kind woman in front of him was unaware of the fact that he'd sent a killing curse at "that awful husband" less than a month ago, but he decided not to bring up that fact. "Pity," he said instead. "Well I've got to prep for my next class. Do either of you know when Severus might be around? I couldn't find him in his office."

"Oh yes, we keep a schedule right here," Slughorn said as he got up to waddle towards the wall near the entrance. There was a massive piece of parchment hanging from it… somehow, as it had no frame. The paper was darkened and frayed with age and had an empty black grid on it. The man winked at him as he tapped the parchment with his wand. _"__Id est__capiat__te__levavi__.*"_

At his words, the blank grid began to fill with frilly maroon calligraphy. The first column had the name of every teacher on staff, and the row at the top had the days of the week. Everything else was blank.

"Just tap the square for the day and person you wish to see," the man said and put his wand tip on the square under Wednesday's column in Severus' row, and the grid immediately changed to give the times of his classes, as well as his scheduled office hours, which appeared to be whenever he wasn't eating, sleeping, or teaching.

"So he'll be… teaching," Harry said after consulting his wristwatch.

Slughorn tapped a point off the grid, causing it to fill in with the days of the week and teachers' names again. He then touched Harry's square for Wednesday, causing the grid to fill with a new schedule. "If you cancel a class, make sure you make note of it here," he said, indicating the parchment on the wall. "That way your students won't get detention for wandering the halls during class hours."

"Brilliant, thanks," Harry said.

"And if you need to find someone in an emergency, just say their name and tap the map here," he said, pointing his wand at a strange symbol in the corner. "Severus Snape."

The grid disappeared entirely. The parchment now showed the layout of the classroom Snape was utilizing for the sixth and seventh year DADA classes, and a dot with the Headmaster's name attached to it was pacing back and forth at the head of it.

"And when you're done make sure you clear it. Otherwise anyone can use it," he said with a chuckle that jiggled his belly like a bowl full of jelly, touching his wand to the paper one last time and muttering, "_Judicium executes_."

Harry suddenly had a very good idea where the Marauders got the idea for their map.

* * *

Both Severus and Luna continued to remain elusive, and so it was the very next morning found Harry tapping his fingers on his teacher's desk in what he keenly hoped was not an emulation of Professor McGonagall as all the little children filed in. After surviving one whole day of teaching Harry fancied himself an old pro and was thus feigning impatience to cover his amusement as he waited for the restless children to settle down.

The previous day had gone well, except for the fact that his fourth years were extremely disappointed he would not be killing or torturing anything. He was content enough to _Imperio_ some of the more verbal naysayers around the room for a bit, which shut them up nicely.

Harry was, however, noticing a trend in some of the classes, one he could not quite yet put his finger on, but some of the classes had a large number of students that seemed to have been misinformed by previous Defense teachers. He was unsurprised that they had learned nothing from the Carrows, but he would have thought Severus would have set them straight in his year of teaching.

"Now, class," he said after the clock chimed and they had mostly quieted down. "Yesterday we established a working definition of magic. Today we are going to define _dark_ magic, or more specifically the dark arts."

He turned dramatically, and with a flick of his wand, the chalkboard had an empty list numbered one through three.

"The dark arts fall into three categories, now… can anybody tell me what they are?"

As expected, one of the Allen boy's hands was waggling in the air immediately. "Yes, Tom?"

"The three categories of dark arts are Inherent, Maleficium, and Gray Magic."

"Excellent! Five points to Slytherin! Can anybody tell me what all of that means?" Harry said, once again flushed with the excitement of inciting understanding. "Inherent dark arts," Harry began in the absence of any volunteers, "refers to spells that are considered inherently bad. Any spell that is specifically designed to kill, torture, or take away another's free will is considered Inherent Dark Magic."

"The Unforgiveables," Harry heard someone mutter.

"Exactly!" Harry said, making a side bar from 'Inherent' to list the three Unforgiveable curses. "We have the killing curse, the Imperius curse, which causes another to act as the caster wills, and the cruciatus curse, which causes unbearable pain."

"But Professor, me brudder says you used Imperius on the fourt' years!"

"That's right, I did. An excellent point, Sean. As the saying goes, there is an exception to every rule. In this case the Ministry sees teaching people to resist the Imperius curse as more important than not having anyone do it. Do you agree with them?"

The children looked at each other nervously, as if this might be a test if they would disagree with the Ministry, and there was a general answer of shrugs.

"What about other exceptions? They occur in classrooms, but more commonly in the medical field. What if a healer has a patient that is convulsing badly? Would you sanction the healer putting an imperious curse on them to stop them from hurting themselves? Or using the killing curse to ease a slow and painful but inevitable death?"

The classroom was quiet for several moments before someone finally spoke.

"Aye, I think then it might be alright," Sean said.

"And what about this," Harry continued without missing a beat, "If someone uses an Unforgiveable curse in one of those situations does it make them a practitioner of the Dark Arts?"

It seemed nobody had an answer to that yet.

"Well that's alright. But think on it! They'll be asking you again fourth year. There are more than the three unforgivable that are considered Inherantly Dark Magic, but we'll get back to that later. Let's move on to Maleficium: more commonly known as "sorcery," Maleficium is using _any_ not inherently dark spell in a dark manner, that is to kill, torture, maim, etcetera or take away someone's free will. Now as for Gray Magic…"

* * *

"Dedalus Diggle named his son _Icarus_?!" Harry said with disbelief as he flipped through the short stack of pictures in his hands. By Friday evening he had finally tracked down Severus, who had evidently been spending his time not teaching back at Malfoy Manor helping Narcissa Malfoy get settled back in and, hopefully, less crazy.

"Indeed. Madam Hooch has been advised to take the utmost precaution at this year's First Flyers," Severus replied distractedly as he perused a piece of parchment on his desk.

After a week of classes he had finally received the names and pictures of the students in class he had not recognized since they were missing from the original role. As it turned out most of them were missing because they had been in hiding and were proving difficult to find.

The one flaw in the brilliant plan of casting the Fidelius charm on your own hiding spot so no one else could find you was that no one else could find you. War, plague, famine, or peace could present itself on your doorstep and you would be none the wiser.

The return of the Dursleys had of course heralded the return of their protector and Secret Keeper Dedalus Diggle, along with the Diggle family and Hestia Jones. The unfortunately named Icarus Diggle turned out to be one of the children he didn't recognize, and Harry was now trying to commit a whole new set of faces to memory.

"How did Mrs. Malfoy seem?" Harry asked. "Any less crazy?"

"_She is not crazy!"_ Severus hissed at him with a stern face.

"Right, er… any less troubled?"

"She is healing as well as can be expected. Thank you for your concern," Severus said snippily then went back to his parchment. He huffed a moment later. "_So_, how did your classes go?"

"Brilliant!" Harry said and launched into a detailed explanation of the events of the previous week.

Severus simply raised one side of his lips slightly. "I am glad you are enjoying teaching."

"I never thought it would be this… awesome!"

'_Awesome' _Severus mouthed with a smirk.

"There is one thing that troubles me, though."

The man sitting across from him peered over his parchment. "Oh?"

"Well some of the students seem to be a bit, er… misinformed. Some of my Slytherin fourth years in particular… they seem to be under the impression that hexes can only be deflected, not reflected back to their original caster. Were the Carrows really that… dim?"

"Ah," Severus said and put his papers down. Harry thought the older man held a few creases of guilt on his face as he continued: "That will be my fault, you see I thought it _prudent_ when I was teaching DADA to… misdirect some of the more… dangerous students."

"You deliberately sabotaged their education!" Harry said with wide eyes.

"Some might say—"

"Severus!"

"You see I felt—"

"I. am. s_hocked!_" By this point Harry was standing, and lecturing the man with his hands on his hips.

Snape leveled him with a glare. "I fully entrust you to sort them all out, _Mister Potter. _Now was there anything else you needed?"

"No, no, don't mistake this for anger, Severus. I'm just surprised that's all. And there was one other thing I needed to discuss with you." Harry sat down again, and the tense set of the Headmaster's shoulders eased minutely. "Besides the fact that you haven't been sleeping."

"I—How did you know that?" Severus frowned.

"You're cranky. You're having nightmares again aren't you?"

The sudden stubborn set of the man's jaw both answered Harry's question, and told the younger man he was not going to get a straight answer from Severus himself.

"Severus, you should let me stay with you."

"Wh-what?! Are you insane?""

"Not last time I checked."

"You are a student at my school you cannot _stay with me_."

"I am also a teacher at your school and perfectly of age. Or is that against _school rules_ too?"

"As a matter of fact it's not. Undoubtedly the founders trusted in the faculty to—" Severus extrapolated as something clicked in Harry's mind and he blushed.

"Wait, you checked?"

"—avoid any hint of impropriety!"

"It's not like we'd be sleeping _with_ each other. I'm sure you're up to making up two beds."

"I said no!"

"Technically you said 'Are you insane?' And it's not just you that's suffering," Harry said the last part quietly, which amazingly halted Severus' impending apoplexy.

"What do you mean by that?" Snape snapped at him, though not entirely unkindly.

"I…" Harry began, then looked up to catch his gaze. "I've missed you, Severus. You've been mostly gone all week. Have you been avoiding me?"

The older man sat down with a sigh and looked away from him. "I was helping Nar—"

"No," Harry said simply. "You can't lie to me anymore, remember?" he said tapping his temple to remind Severus of the mental link they shared.

He huffed again. "I thought staying away from you would help."

"And has it?"

"No," he admitted. "It's only made it worse."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. At least he had gotten that much out of him. "So we're not going to do that anymore, right?"

Severus just shrugged. "What else did you say you wanted to talk about?"

Harry sat back in his chair, only mildly disappointed at the abrupt change in topic. He was, after all, getting used to it. "I have a student that is not doing very well in my class," Harry said, producing a few pieces of parchment from his bag.

"You'll get used to it."

"I'm sure I will, but this student in particular stuck out to me. She does brilliant work on essays, but every in-class quiz I've given she has failed abysmally."

Harry set out the two short essays and two even shorter quizzes that were all his first year students had produced in the first week of class.

Severus looked over them briefly before replying. "I see what you mean. Have you spoken to the student yet?"

"No. I wanted to come to you before I accused anyone of cheating," Harry said seriously.

"I see. Well I'm glad you did. Cheating is something we take very seriously, however there is a very thin line between cheating and getting help." He paused to look at Harry over the paper in front of him. "Your student is obviously not cheating on the in-class work. It is possible she is asking for help from home and that the problem therein lies with the help she has sought, and not necessarily with her. Sometimes parents of first years are a bit… overzealous… and like to 'help' their kids with homework via owlpost. This can result in exceptional out of class work that the student does not fully understand. We of course like to nip this behavior in the bud, and in this case I suspect that is exactly what is happening."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, your student is Jessica White. Her mother is Emile White."

That name sounded familiar. Harry nodded slowly.

"We worked with her to capture all of those Death Eaters a week ago."

"Oh! Emile White the Auror!"

"Precisely," Severus said.

Harry remembered the overzealous single parent Auror with something to prove very well. _She must be a very demanding mother, _he thought and began to feel a tinge of sympathy for Jessica.

"You should probably schedule a Parent-Teacher conference with her as soon as possible."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "I'm not really familiar, er, with the procedure for that?"

"Just owl her with a time to meet. Usually on the weekend if you know the parents work during the week. Go over the work her daughter has done with her and see if she comes to the same conclusion, if not confront her on it without being too accusatory."

"I wasn't aware teaching involved so much diplomacy," Harry complained good-naturedly.

"Just you wait," Severus said with an evil grin that wiped the smile off Harry's face.

* * *

Harry had sent an owl off to Emile White the moment he left Severus' office and was only mildly amused to receive a reply not 20 minutes later:

_Dear Professor Potter,_

_I was admittedly confused by your letter. What trouble could Jessica have possibly gotten herself into so early in the year? _

_I am happy to meet with you tomorrow morning at ten. I will see you in your office._

_Cheers,_

_Emile _

The woman's behavior at the strategy meeting did not seem to agree with the friendly wording of her letter, and Harry wondered if she was much different outside of work. Perhaps being able to send her child away to school had done her some good.

After breakfast on Saturday morning, Harry grabbed all of Jessica's work and stuffed it into his bag before making his way to the DADA classroom. He was sitting at his desk pulling out paper when the door flew open.

"Professor Potter! What an honor to meet you!" Emile said as she walked in with a wide smile.

Yes, she was _much_ different outside of work.

Harry stood up to shake the woman's outstretched hand. "Oh we've met before," he said and thought he saw her flinch ever so slightly. Her smile, however, never waivered.

"Of _course_. But then you weren't _Professor_ Potter then now were you?"

"No I suppose not. Will you have a seat?" he gestured to one of the two seats in front of his desk and Emile neatly perched on one.

"How are things at the Ministry? Have you sorted everyone out yet?"

Emile clicked her tongue. "Not even _close_. We've had to let loads of people go due to insufficient or even _lost_ evidence. Half of the people there have not even been arraigned... oh it's a zoo!"

"Oh my… well I hope you get that sorted out soon," he said, slightly dismayed to hear the state of the Ministry.

"In due time, my dear Professor. All in due time. Now what was it you needed to talk to me about Jessica? She hasn't been doing well in class?"

"Well yes, and no," he said, placing the essays and quizzes in front of her. "Her essays are exceptional, but her in-class work is… lacking."

He let Emile look over the papers herself, her face all business in a heartbeat. "I see," Emile said when she was done reading, a definite frown on her face.

"What do you think might be causing it?" Harry prompted her.

"She clearly needs to study harder. These are unacceptable!" Emile said, waving the quizzes in the air, a giant blood-red letter 'T' announcing itself in the corner. "I will speak with her."

"Well I wanted to speak with you first. Before we check for any… reading comprehension issues or test taking issues we just like to make sure everyone is on the same page here. Has she by chance been owling you for help with her essays at all?"

The anger on White's face was replaced with a flash of guilt, though Harry had the distinct impression it was feigned. "Oh, that. Well you see she is painfully shy, so yes she does ask me for help with her homework… frequently."

"Ah, I see. Is there any chance you might be giving her… too much information… such that it's over her comprehension level at this time and is… overwhelming her?" Harry asked, hoping that his words were diplomatic enough.

Emile looked embarrassed, though her fair skin notably lacked any red tinge whatsoever. "Yes, I suppose that is possible," she said simply and hung her head.

"Well I can't blame you for wanting the best for your daughter," Harry said. "Perhaps if you encourage her to seek help from her peers instead they could better explain things at her level?"

"I will try. She is ever so shy."

"She must have _a_ friend?" Harry asked. He was an outcast and even he had managed to make friends at Hogwarts, but the woman just shook her head sadly. "Did something… happen to her that I should know about?"

"Oh, no… not that I know of."

"Well has she always been this shy?"

"She… yes."

Harry frowned at her noncommittal answers. He would have expected most parents to ramble on and on about their children, if the Dursleys were any indication. Perhaps Jessica was an accident. "It must be quite hard raising her alone and juggling your career all at the same time," Harry said, hoping he would get more out of the woman, but it seemed he instead offended her.

"I do alright, thank you," she said shortly.

"Oh please, I didn't mean to offend. I just meant we are here to help, if you need it," he smiled, but she continued to look at him resentfully. "And you do do alright. My best friend Hermione was absolutely enamored with you."

That calmed her down a bit, and she spoke more sweetly: "Well I would love to meet this friend of yours. She sounds charming."

Harry frowned internally, but left his face an unchanged mask. Something wasn't right. It was one thing to forget meeting the Famous Harry Potter, but to forget meeting the Famous Harry Potter AND the Famous Hermione Granger with a name no one could pronounce and everyone would remember was just too unlikely. "Oh, but you have met her. Don't you recall?"

Emilie was smiling and shaking her head slightly while appearing to search her memory.

"Yes we all met at the strategy meeting a couple weeks ago," Harry supplied.

The woman relaxed a fraction and feigned comprehension, "Oh of course! Yes, we were all there for the… strategy planning."

"Yes," Harry spoke calmly, all the while inching his hand towards his wand in his pocket, "Oh, do you remember they told us the phrase that unlocks the Dark Mark? What was it again?"

"Oh? Oh! Yes, er, if I recall correctly it was, 'Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four,'" she said, but only a fraction of the incantation had left her lips before Harry was out of his seat with his wand aimed at the woman's heart. She looked frozen with shock.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Emile White?" he asked.

The woman's expression changed to a frown as her gaze focused first on the tip of Harry's wand, and then on his face. "No one you know, and she's somewhere you'll never find her," she said with a sneer.

A split second later he was looking at a cloud of black smoke that rose from the chair and smashed out the window with a loud crash.

* * *

*****_**Id est**__**capiat**__**te**__**levavi**_is probably not Latin for "I solemnly swear I mean no harm" and _**Judicium executus**__ may or may not mean something along the lines of "_Justice managed."

…according to Google Translate. :D


End file.
